Jackson smiled again, and Elliot flushed.
“Jennings, stop flirting and get out there,” Anders barked.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Jackson replied with a mock salute, not denying the flirting accusation before he jogged back over to join Hewitt and Green. Elliot’s heart soared.
Elliot watched all three of them carefully, focused in a way he hadn't been in months. Hewitt’s form was obnoxiously good, precise and quick. Chris was too stiff on his right side, his armswings not matching up, and Jackson… Jackson looked perfect. Well, other than his slightly too high heel flick and the tension in his left shoulder, but it somehow just looked charming.
Elliot was fucked.
The workout flew by. Elliot fell into a pattern of watching the athletes, peering over Anders’s shoulder at their stats and noting down his observations. Chris’s heart rate was too high again, and Anders kept frowning at the data and tapping on his tablet, but he didn’t call him over. He kept them going, though, long past the point when Elliot had expected the repetitive workout to end.
Finally, Anders brought it to a close, taking them through a short cool-down before jogging off, tablet in hand, muttering to himself. Hewitt and Green left shortly after, waving to him as they went.
Elliot sat on the stands, tidying up his notes for a minute before Jackson plonked himself down next to him on the hard metal and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh.” Elliot exhaled sharply as he turned.
Jackson was breathing hard still, sweating, and so close that Elliot could almost hear his heartbeat. A cloud opened above them, and cold rain ran began to fall, but Elliot didn’t even look for shelter. All of his focus was on the beautiful man in front of him and how he ached to touch him.
“You wanted to talk?” Elliot asked.
Jackson nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah. About Chris.”
“Oh.” Elliot breathed out. That wasn’t what he’d expected…or hoped for. “What about him?”
Jackson wiped a hand across his forehead. “You saw those splits, right? He shouldn’t be able to hold that pace.”
Elliot frowned. Despite himself, the instinct to protect Chris the way his father had wanted, persisted. “He’s young. First big season.”
“Maybe,” Jackson said. “Or maybe something’s off. My mum said the same thing a while back, how crazy it was that he ran that debut time. It’s been bugging me since.”
Elliot sighed and turned away, staring at the empty track. “Don’t start that.” No matter what his personal feelings were on the matter, he'd never let himself be the source of that kind of rumour again.
“What?”
“The whispering. You don’t know anything, and if you’re wrong, you’ll ruin his career before it’s even started.”
Jackson hesitated. “If I’m right, though…”
“Then it’s worse.” Elliot cut in, sharper than he meant. “Leave it to Anders or the Athletics Association. It’s not for us to police.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to keep his voice even.
“You know something,” Jackson said, eyes narrowing.
“Please, leave it. You think he’d really take the risk? One test and he’d be finished. Sponsors gone, name trashed. One mistake can follow you forever.”
Jackson studied him. “You sound like you know how that feels.”
Elliot didn’t answer, just kept his gaze fixed on the track. The rain picked up. The silence stretched. “Everyone’s hiding something, right? We don’t know what he’s got going on.”
Jackson shook his head. “Still, if he’s cheating, you should have that spot. You earned it.”
“That’s not how I want to earn it,” Elliot said. His voice was low, tired. “I made my own mistakes, and not just about the Olympics.” He sighed, looking straight into Jackson’s eyes and willing him to understand. “But I don’t want Chris to be a casualty of this industry. The pressure’s getting to him, sure, and maybe he did try to get an edge somehow. He wouldn’t be the first. Desperation does funny things to people.”
Jackson frowned. “He’s got plenty of funding.”
Elliot gave a small, humourless laugh. “Money’s not the only kind of desperation.”
Jackson turned toward him, brow furrowed. “Is this still about Chris?”
