"Are you angry?" Elliot asked. "I caused a spectacle." His voice was small and wary.
Elliot's father sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. “I’m sorry, Son. For everything. I thought I was protecting you, protecting us… I didn’t realise how much I was hurting you in the process.”
Elliot nodded, but didn’t make a sound. His face was an expressionless mask, but Jackson knew underneath he’d be reeling. He squeezed his hand again in reassurance and was more than a little relieved when Elliot squeezed back and straightened his back just a touch.
“So you aren’t? Upset that I’ve tarnished your legacy,” Elliot asked.
“No, that… I should never have made you feel like that was on you. It was on me, always. I…I don’t want to lose you. You’re my son first, not my client, and I’m sorry that hasn’t always been clear.”
Elliot bit his lip. Jackson watched the exchange, trying to project silent support to his partner.
“It hasn’t. Been clear, that is,” Elliot said.
Carl Owens, titan of the athletics world, looked like he was about to break. Jackson couldn’t have looked away now, even if he’d wanted to. “I'm so proud of you. I'm always so proud of you. I’d like for us to try to start over, if that’s ok?”
Clearing his throat. Elliot nodded again. “We can do that,” he said looking his father straight in the eyes. “But you’re fired.”
His father baulked. “Elliot!”
More confident now, Elliot smiled. “I want us to work on our relationship, I do. But we can’t do that if you're my agent. I’d rather have you just be my dad.”
It could have been a sweet scene. Jackson felt a bit like he was watching one of those Christmas films where the family finally come together, except it was hot as balls outside, his muscles were still spasming, and the moment was thoroughly ruined when Chris Green walked in. A few intrepid journalists followed him. Not even the threat of the Hewitts’ bodyguards was enough to deter them from the potential drama unfolding.
Mr. Owens rose, heading off his client before he reached the table. Chris’s face was splotchy and tear-streaked. His hands shook, and his hair was a dishevelled mess, as though he’d been pulling it. Jackson would never understand what had driven him to risk his future the way he had, but his heart broke for him anyway. Looking at him now, he seemed even younger than his twenty years. He wanted to bundle him up and hide him from the world—that is, until he opened his stupid mouth.
“No.” Chris raised his voice, shoving Mr. Owens backwards. “You did this.” He was almost shouting now. “You’re meant to represent me. I trusted you, did everything you said, but I got pulled for your son to run. Pretty fucking massive coincidence.”
Elliot rose from the table, but Anders was closer. He bundled Chris away, the man struggling for a moment before slumping into Anders’s hold as though all the fight had fallen out of him.
Jackson watched as Elliot led his father to their table. He shuffled down to make room for Mr. Owens on the hard plastic bench next to his son.
“I didn’t tell him to—” Mr Owens started.
“I know, Dad,” Elliot replied. “I know.”
“Your mother wants me to retire,” he said. Jackson had the distinct feeling that he was intruding on a private conversation, but Elliot picked his hand up again, tracing hearts on his palm as he spoke quietly with his father.
“Do you want that?”
“Well, I have just lost my two best clients,” he replied.
Elliot let out a startled laugh, then he sobered. “Do you think she’ll have watched?” he asked. Jackson didn’t know much about Elliot’s mother, but the hope in his voice was almost as heartbreaking as the tight frown that graced his father’s face as he prepared his measured response.
“It’s hard for her. To watch you run. She worries that you’ll end up like me.”
“But it’s the Olympics.”
“It is.” Carl straightened, checking the menu as though the emotion was too much and he needed a moment to recalibrate. “We’ll have dinner when you get back. The four of us,” he said, nodding to Jackson.
Jackson nodded back, then he turned to Elliot. “Are you alright?” he whispered in his ear.
Elliot leaned his head on Jackson’s shoulder and nodded. “I think I will be,” he said. “Everyone knows about us now, whatever comes next doesn’t matter. I can finally give you the kind of relationship you want.”
“Ell, the only kind of relationship I want is one with you.”
Elliot smiled. “That’s good, ’cause you’re stuck with me now. I can never go back to the way things were before you. You’veruined me forever. Ever since you kissed me in that stupid fucking tent in the middle of the forest.”
Jackson smiled. “We were, like, a ten-minute walk from the gondola.” He laughed and kissed Elliot deeply, pushing every bit of love and care he could muster into the press of their lips. “I love you, Elliot Owens.”
