A sharp rap at the door interrupted his thoughts.
It was Jackson, with the cheekiest grin he’d possibly ever worn gracing his face.
“Absolutely not,” Elliot scolded as Jackson leered at him from the doorway. “You have to meet Anders in, like, twenty minutes.”
“You’ll have to help me stretch, then.” Jackson winked.
Elliot’s mouth was on his before they’d even managed to shut the door.
Jackson’s stubble rasped against his face as their kisses became frantic, burning out of control. Elliot pulled back, and Jackson tried to chase his mouth, but he held him firmly in place.
“You need to get ready.”
Jackson pouted.
“Jackson, I’ll be there cheering you on at the finish line with your family, but you still need to change and get down to meet Anders for warm-ups.”
Anders would lose his shit if Jackson was late today.
“We can walk down together,” Elliot suggested, and Jackson smiled at him like he’d offered him the world’s greatest gift. It made Elliot’s heart clench. He owed this man so much more than basic public acknowledgement.
Jackson nodded. “Can I get a kiss for the road?”
Elliot grinned and pulled him into his arms for another dizzying kiss.
“Well, that explains a fucking lot,” a clipped upper-class accent said from the doorway.
Elliot went to explain. His relationship with Hewitt was in an okay place after he’d taken the time to apologise, not only for years of coldness, but also for not standing up for him when he’d been maligned in the press earlier that year.
His chance at an explanation was cut short, though, as Darius held his hand up. “We can talk about this later,” he said. “Anders wants to see Owens.”
Elliot sat waiting in a small office on the other side of the Olympic Village that Darius had led him to before dragging Jackson off to warm up. They were hours away from the Olympic marathon, and he was meant to be meeting Beth and Jackson’s parents to watch the start. He was going to be late.
Everything in the room was grey. The mottled industrial carpet, the hard chairs, and the table that functioned as a makeshift desk made the room feel more like a policeinterrogation room than an office. The door creaked as someone entered, and Elliot came face-to-face with a man he hadn’t spoken to properly in weeks. His dad’s blue-grey eyes, almost a mirror of his own, looked exhausted in a world-weary way that made Elliot feel for the man, despite the bitter taste of betrayal that still lingered from a lifetime of half-truths.
Carl Owens approached slowly. “Son—” he started.
Elliot crossed his arms. “Why are you here? What’s going on?”
“I wanted to be here to support you.”
“In what capacity?”
He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, Elliot?”
“I mean, are you here as my father or as my agent?”
His dad crossed the room with a sigh and leaned against the wall across from him in a pose so unlike his usual cold composure that it gave Elliot pause. “Can it be both?”
“What’s happened?”
Before his dad had a chance to respond, Anders entered with a large file tucked under his arm. “Good, you’re already here, Carl. Let’s get this squared away, and then you can get on damage control for Green.”
“Damage control?” Elliot asked, directing the question straight at his father, who nodded discreetly, confirming the worst of Elliot’s fears for the young runner.
“Green’s had an adverse analytical result,” he stated. “He’s been immediately disqualified and is facing a four-year ban if the findings hold up.”
Elliot sucked in a breath. He knew it was common. Athletes were often tested close to the marathon. With how marred the sport was with doping scandals, it wasn’t unusual to see. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had his suspicions about Chris—his father had as well, of course—but to have it confirmed like this…
