Page 83 of Your Pace or Mine
The man grinned at him, and Darius realised that it had actually been worth it. Regardless of where he ended up with Jamie, regardless of his plans for the centre, he’d done something good this year.
“That’s amazing, London’s a great first race—the elite field here is like no other,” he replied, trying to infuse his words with the kind of acceptance he knew he had craved at that age.
“I’m Jacob.” He stuck out his hand, and Darius shook it immediately. “Could we, I mean, would it be ok if we got a selfie?”
Darius laughed. Jacob’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Yeah, of course, mate.”
“You must be pretty fast yourself, didn’t fancy going pro?” he asked with a nod to the shirt, a hallmark of Oxford’s top cross-country runners.
“I’m not good enough.” He shrugged. “It’s a fun hobby, but I really only joined to meet boys. I’ve only got a year left in uni. It’ll be hard to leave behind, but I’m not elite level like Malek is, and I figure one of us dealing with the insane schedule will be enough.”
“You don’t have to compete at the elite level to keep running,” Darius replied.
“Yeah, to be fair, I can’t see myself giving this up for good,” Jacob replied with a smile.
Darius nodded. “Maybe catch you at the start line? Looks like we’re pacing the same group.”
Jacob grinned. “Definitely! See you tomorrow!” he said as he bounded off into the crowd.
Chapter 21
Jamie
The London Marathon
Jamie felt a strange sense of excitement and trepidation on the morning of the marathon. The feeling was almost alien to him after a week spent in the depths of despair. Still, the excitement bubbled. It was a similar feeling to the one he used to get before a big audition, like one day could change everything.
He wasn’t quite sure why. Nothing was really riding on this anymore. If he dropped out today, he’d have to answer to Reg, and probably his running crew, but they’d all get over it…eventually.
Still, he would not back out.
Regardless of how he’d felt earlier in the week, Reg was right. Jamie needed to see this through.
He rolled out of bed and picked out his race-day outfit. A cherry red technical shirt and tight black leggings paired with rainbow running socks he’d bought last week after being served a particularly well-tailored ad on Instagram.
If nothing else, he knew he looked good.
It took him multiple tries to pin the race number evenly to the front of his shirt. It was a miracle he’d even managed to dig out enough pins from his neglected show bag to do it.
The tube was a nightmare on a good day, but on marathon day, it was packed. Jamie felt lucky to have got on at Mile End because at least he had a seat, though he could have done without some already sweaty stranger’s Lycra-covered twig and berries veering towards his head at every lean of the train. It was a hot day, and Jamie was starting to wonder if the leggings had been a mistake.
As expected, everyone piled off at the same spot and made their way towards the corrals. Jamie would be forever grateful to Reg for telling him to double-check his start line location. There were so many people running the London Marathon these days that they had to split it up into three different starting groups. He spotted a few people with red or green bibs helplessly wandering around the blue area he’d been assigned. It did not look like a fun time. Moderately pleased with himself for the forethought, not typically his forte, he took the chance to look around a bit and take in the atmosphere.
It was a lot.
There was an absolute sea of runners before him in various states of dress. He did a double-take when he saw someone in a blow-up chicken suit, but they were shortly followed by a Spartan warrior, several groups in tutus, and, shockingly, more than one person wearing Crocs, which was not only a crime against fashion but surely a crime against running.
He’d be damned if he let them finish before him.
The air crackled with electricity. You could almost taste the anticipation. It was obvious that a lot of people were first-timers like Jamie, but he could also see the elite runners already lining up in front of everyone, ready for the starting gun. His heart gave an involuntary lurch as the sight made him think of Darius.
Jamie nervously eyed the corrals. His training had gone well. He knew everyone was expecting him in the 3:30 group, but Darius was pacing, at least he assumed he still was, and Jamie wasn’t sure if he could face him just yet. He wanted to see him when he’d achieved something, when he’d finished the marathon and could feel like he had earned something the hard way. Whether to win him back or throw it in his face, Jamie honestly wasn’t sure.
As much as he wanted Darius back in his life, the more he thought about it, the angrier he was at him for not giving him the benefit of the doubt.
Jamie still didn’t understand what could have possibly been so bad that night that he couldn’t even give him a chance to explain.
He’d barely even blinked when Jamie had confessed his feelings… or shouted them, rather.
