Page 58 of Your Pace or Mine
“And then lately, you shut me out, Darius. After the selectors made their decision, all I got from you were like, one-word texts.”
Darius swallowed hard. “Right, so it’s my fault, then. What was I supposed to say? That I’m thrilled I got replaced by my best friend?”
“That’s just it, I’m meant to be your best friend, and I found out about your relationship in the tabloids.”
“I should have told you about Jamie. I get that. But come on, you’re the one who got everything you ever wanted, Jax.”
“Don’t,” Jackson said sharply. “It’s fucking politics, and yeah, maybe I benefited from that. But it wasn’t my choice, Darius.”
Darius looked away, his throat tight. “I’m sorry.”
Jackson hesitated, then sat down beside him. “You deserved a spot on the team, Darius, we all know it.”
“It doesn’t matter now, I’m happy for you. It just, this whole thing has been stressful as hell. Now, everything with Jamie is messing with my head too, and if it doesn’t work, well…”
Jackson nodded. “I have no idea what’s going on with the selection committee this year. Anders shouldn’t hold this much sway over them. It feels like it’s all just about image and politics and who’s sucking whose dick, metaphorically, obviously.”
Darius let out a bitter laugh. “It feels like everything changed and I missed the memo and now I’m just a broken has-been who should probably think about retiring, but I can’t.”
Jackson reached out, his hand brushing against Darius’s arm. “No. You’re not broken. You’re angry, and you have every right to be. But don’t fucking talk about retiring.”
Darius looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in weeks, the walls between them seemed to crack. “So, has training with Anders really been that bad?”
Jackson sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not awful, he really does know his stuff, innovative and all that, but…”
Darius’s stomach tightened. “But what?”
“He’s like, weirdly obsessed with you. Asks me about you constantly. Between him and Owens, I’m going spare,” Jackson ranted.
Darius arched a brow. “Owens is as bad as we thought then?”
Jackson flushed. “Worse. Swanning around like he thinks he’s the UK’s answer to Kipchoge.”
“Well, the way things are looking, he’ll be at the Olympics, and I won’t, so maybe he’s not totally wrong,” Darius groused. “Sorry. I’m being a selfish dick again, aren’t I? Maybe it wasn’t the wrong call at all, maybe Anders saw something I didn’t. Inever meant to make you feel like you didn’t belong, Jax. You have to know I don’t think that.”
“I know. I do know that,” Jackson said. “Just, you know, emotions, hate the bloody things. I’m sorry, mate.” Jackson slung an arm around Darius’s shoulders.
Darius slumped. “Not your fault.”
“Listen, you’re my best mate,” Jackson said simply. “And I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want us to hide things from each other.” He gained confidence as he continued, “I hate that we let this come between us. I hate that we aren’t training for this together. And I hate that you’re hurting because of it.”
Darius sighed, the weight on his chest easing just slightly. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“I want you on that fucking start line with me in August,” Jackson said firmly. “Just tell me what you need. And for what it’s worth, I think you should give this thing with Jamie a real shot—tell him how you feel. If he’s as great as you think, then it’s worth it.”
Darius nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t sure if he would do anything about Jamie, but he wasn’t giving up on the Olympics, not yet. The spark of determination returned deep inside him.
“We both need to do better at this whole friendship thing,” Darius sighed.
“We’ll get there.” Jackson shrugged. “You and Jamie going to bring your little splinter group back to the Tuesday sessions next week? Could be fun to see Anders’ face if nothing else.”
“You are an actual chaos demon, aren’t you?”
Jackson shrugged. “It’s fun to be me. Besides, we’re heading to St. Moritz in like two weeks, it’d be cool to see you more before then.”
“St. Moritz? Not Iten?”
“Nah, Anders has insisted on some posh Swiss hotel. You’d probably get on if you didn’t like, bitterly hate each other.”
