Jackson hummed. “That’s rough. Which one?”
“New drinks line. Maple energy drink thing,” Owens replied.
Jackson winced. It was one of the biggest campaigns he’d booked since the Copenhagen disaster—proof that all the branding and publicity shit he’d been working on with Brea had been worth it. He refused to feel guilty about getting one over on Owens; he deserved it.
“It’s fine, I know you booked it.”
Silence descended once more. Sunlight streamed through the glass lobby, catching frost patches on the window ledges and glinting off the distant lake, sharp and blue. As they exited the lobby, the athletics track was immediately to their left, with the sparkling, crystalline water of the lake to the right. The whole scene made quite the impression, surrounded by snow-capped peaks and trails leading off from the manicured grass into the woods. A crisp breeze ruffled Jackson’s hair and tugged at the hem of his jacket, but the sun was warm enough on his shoulders to make him consider a reckless dip in the lake. He felt on edge with Owens next to him, walking silently. He thumbed the elite card in his pocket that would grant him access to the nearby gym and swimming facilities. “You want to check out the fitness centre?”
Owens nodded and followed without a word as Jackson redirected them towards the complex. They had four weeks here, so it would be nice to track down a yoga class, and he loved the idea of early morning swims to start the day. Though he was tempted by the lake, he imagined he’d be on his own if he suggested it—it did look cold.
As they neared the gym, he spotted the group he’d been chatting to on the train into town. A mix of Italian and Swiss athletes who used St. Moritz as their usual altitude training base.They waved him over enthusiastically, and he broke into a slow jog to catch them up.
“Come on.” He nodded to Owens. “I’ll introduce you.”
“Jackson,” Ilaria, one of the Italian cyclists, greeted him as he approached.
He kissed her once on each cheek and introduced Owens to the group.
“We were heading to the lake for a swim. Join us?” another Italian woman who’d introduced herself as Alice asked.
It couldn’t have been more perfect. He’d assumed that the lake would be a non-starter for swimming, but these guys had been here before; they’d know the best spots.
“We’d have to run back to grab our swimming costumes.”
Ilaria laughed. “No time for that, I’m afraid, you’ll have to go nude.”
Jackson baulked. Mid-March in the Alps? But the water looked almost inviting and the group were all looking at him like they expected his British prudishness to rear its head.
“You’re serious?” Jackson asked, eyeing the lake.
Elliot, standing nearby, smirked. “Last year, this would have still been frozen over. Year before that, even worse.”
Jackson shook his head, glancing at the surprisingly calm water. “Climate change.”
“Oh, it will still be freezing.” Alice laughed. “We will not stay long. But it is a fun challenge.”
Jackson found himself nodding along. Owens, however, was unsurprisingly not amused. “Have fun with your friends, Jennings,” he said as he turned to head to the gym entrance. “I’ll see you for training tomorrow.”
Jackson nodded, ignoring the judgemental tone and leaving Owens as he followed the group to the frigid lake.
Not wanting to be shown up, he stripped and ran straight in with no hesitation. The water shocked his skin, bracing in a waythat left him breathless for a moment, goose bumps racing down his arms. Despite the chill, it was survivable, made easier by the unusually warm March air and the weak spring sun warming his shoulders. The group splashed each other and messed around in the lake for a few moments before clambering out onto the bank. Someone threw him a towel, which he gratefully wrapped around himself as his skin prickled from the chill. He redressed quickly, then stretched out on the grass, snow melting in patches around him, and stared up at the clear sky. He couldn’t help but wonder where Owens was, and what he would have made of the scene. He’d probably roll his eyes and accuse Jackson of putting his social life before training. Jackson huffed in irritation, but the faint breeze tugging at his hair centred him, reminding him of the bracing cold he’d just survived.
He wasn’t completely aware of how much time had passed before Ilaria and her teammate Alice appeared next to him, playfully breaking his quiet relaxation and pressing themselves close in a way that felt like an offer Jackson couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. He let them drag him closer to the others. The sun was setting behind the peaks, painting the snow-dusted slopes and lake in shades of pink and orange. Ice cold air drifted off the water, ruffling his damp hair. Wine and snacks materialised from somewhere, and more people joined them. Everything was happening in a sort of hazy slow motion to him, like he was in a film.
As the rest of the group continued to laugh and drink together on the bank of the lake, Ilaria and Alice stood, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet. Jackson followed without protest, feeling the last of the sun’s warmth fading against the evening chill as they led him down the road back to the hotel, tipsily pointing out all the places he should visit while he was there.
Jackson was aware of where this was leading; the women hadn’t been particularly subtle, and he was up for it, though hewasn’t as into it as he supposed he should be. The most probable reason for his inability to engage was standing in the lobby when the trio stumbled in. The look on Owens’s face was enough to ruin the mood, even if he had been feeling it.
His posture stiffened as he spotted Jackson. “You missed dinner. Guess I can see why.” His voice echoed through the cavernous lobby. “Just what I’d expect from supposedly top-tier athletes.”
The women stilled beside him. Looked like no fun would be had tonight, then.
"I was making sure these ladies got back safe,” Jackson replied with a tight smile.
Owens rolled his eyes. “How utterly chivalrous of you. Who knows what could have happened in the five-minute walk from the lake to the front doors.” Owens leaned in close as the women waved him an awkward goodbye and carried on upstairs. “This place is crawling with journalists. You may not be thanking me, but those women bloody should. Do you have any idea what a headline like that can do to a female athlete's career?”
Jackson flushed. He hated that Owens was right. It was easy to forget that, unlike in London, where the city granted a degree of anonymity, the sporting press knew where to find endurance athletes in the lead-up to major events. Jackson had cultivated a…reputation of sorts—part truth, part fiction. It was how he protected himself in a way. There was nothing that would surprise the press about his personal life enough to consider ita scoop, not really. He knew that wasn’t the case for most athletes, though.
