Page 12 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)
Jamie
J amie was pretty fucked off about the clinic. The way the head coach had laid into Darius was not cool.
It had been on his mind all week. He’d be in the middle of teaching a class, and as the dancers lined up in front of the bar, his mind would drift to the way he’d started to see Darius finally open up.
How that fucking adorable dimple had appeared when he laughed.
And to how quickly that openness had disappeared when Anders had started in on him.
Something had twisted in his gut at the look he’d seen on his face when he’d been told he’d never be on the Olympic team.
Honestly, he wasn’t really sure why he’d bothered coming back this week—it was routine at this point, and it did help keep him on track with his training. Still, when he thought of that look on Darius’s handsome face, he couldn’t help but empathise. Jamie had lived that feeling a thousand times.
It was the feeling of being rejected once again, even though he’d agreed to do the marathon just to get an audition.
The feeling of seeing one of his drama school classmates win an Olivier, while he was stuck in chorus and swing roles.
It was dedicating your whole life to a goal and watching it slip through your fingers because someone else held all the cards.
Though at least he’d never had it delivered with quite the degree of pleasure Anders seemed to have derived from destroying Darius’s hopes.
Besides, training with Darius had just started to be kind of fun; he’d actually enjoyed running for once. He’d felt almost hopeful. Like maybe he could really pull this off.
This week, he had some other generic runner guy leading their group. And look, it was fine, he didn’t do anything wrong, really. But Jamie was bored as fuck. They were just running in circles. Even the other four runners in his group, who were still turning up, seemed kind of subdued.
Well fuck that.
He wasn’t going to waste his time here; besides, he had plenty of experience with cheering people up after a loss.
“Hey, Jennings!” he shouted, jogging over to meet the leader of the second group as they arrived.
He hadn’t interacted much with Jackson Jennings, seeing as he was leading a different group, but he knew he was friendly enough with Darius.
Not because he was paying attention to Darius and figuring out who his friends were or anything…
because Jennings had tried to step in last week with Anders.
God, his internal voice sounded way too much like Reggie.
Jackson turned. “Twinkle toes!”
“What did you just call me, Lad?”
If anything, Jackson’s grin widened at the deepening of Jamie’s accent. “‘Cause you’re a dancer, right?”
“How’d you know that?”
Jackson tilted his head to the side, grin never falling from his face. “A little birdie told me all about you.”
A groan escaped Jamie’s throat. “You still can’t call me that.” He ignored the resulting pout from Jackson and pressed forward. “I was wondering if you could give me Darius’s number?”
Jackson’s grin widened further.
“Because I’m going to add him to our group chat,” Jamie explained. “That wasn’t on last week, and I thought, if he wanted to meet up with the group, away from your coach, then maybe…”
“That’s really sweet,” Jackson said.
Jamie flushed. “I just thought, well, I know a bit about how it feels to get passed over for something you deserve.”
Jamie winced as he realised what he’d implied. Jennings was the one who’d been selected after all. “I didn’t mean—“
Jackson waved him off. “Everyone knows it should’ve been him, don’t stress.”
Jackson eyed Jamie; it gave him the brief sensation of someone trying to peer into his soul. “Darius is a good guy. A little too serious sometimes, but he has a good heart,” he said as he took Jamie’s phone and entered the number. “Just give him time to open up, okay?”
Jamie hesitated over the contact Jackson had entered. “I mean, yeah, just… you know, adding him to the group chat.”
Jackson arched a brow knowingly, and Jamie hunched up his shoulders, waving an awkward thanks before heading off on his way.
Jamie
Hey, this is Jamie, from running group.
Jamie
Jennings gave me your number. Hope that’s cool.
Jamie
Adding you to our group chat.
Darius
OK.
What a riveting conversation that was. He turned to the group chat to update them on his plan.
Jamie
I’m adding Darius to the chat.
Claire
Ok will trust your judgement on him…
Mark
Perfect, I’ll remind him about my fundraiser.
Adam
IS he OK?
Jamie
He’s sound, Claire, promise.
Don’t know if he’s ok, tho. That coach guy was a dick.
Jamie
@Mark, don’t mention your bloody fundraiser,
Mark
But I only need 650 now.
Jamie
Seriously. Stop.
When he received a quick thumbs up on his post from Chi, he counted it as agreement and added Darius.
Jamie
@Darius, welcome to the group chat. Thought maybe we could arrange a session without your arsehole coach.
Jamie
If you want.
Darius
He’s not my coach.
Adam
Soooo next week?
Darius
Saturday 9 a.m., Battersea Park.
Another thumbs up from Chi was followed by a mass of emojis and GIFs. And just like that, they had a new training schedule. Battersea was bloody far to get to from Jamie’s flat in Mile End on a Saturday morning, though.
On Wednesday, Jamie tackled intervals with Reggie at their local track. The workouts were brutal: 400-meter sprints that left him gasping, followed by short recoveries before the next round. Reggie paced him, always a step ahead, shouting encouragement when Jamie felt like quitting.
“Come on, you’re not going to let an old man beat you, are you?” Reggie called over his shoulder, grinning.
“You’re barely a year older than me,” Jamie shot back, panting.
“Exactly,” Reggie quipped. “Ancient by comparison. Better pick it up, La’.”
By the end of the session, Jamie’s shirt was soaked through, and his legs wobbled as he walked to the tube, praying to anyone that would listen for a seat.
Still, he had to admit he was getting faster.
He could feel it on his other runs, the way his legs turned over more easily, though it also may have all been in his head.
On Thursday, during what was supposed to be a routine recovery run, Jamie felt a sharp pain in his knee and hip.
He stopped mid-stride, grimacing and trying to shake it out, but the discomfort only worsened.
He limped home, hoping it was just a fluke.
The next morning, though, the pain lingered, turning every step into a reminder that his body wasn’t invincible.
“You need to rest it,” Reggie said firmly when Jamie told him. They had met up at their usual diner for a greasy rest day breakfast. The weather was abysmal, a grey, drizzly London day. Typical. But Jamie was grateful he wasn’t planning a run today.
“I can’t afford to rest,” Jamie argued. “The marathon is creeping up. I’ll fall behind.”
“You’ll fall behind even more if you’re sidelined with a worse injury,” Reggie countered. Not voicing what they both knew, an injury for Jamie meant more than not finishing the marathon; it could end his already faltering musical theatre career completely.
Jamie suffered through the contemporary class he taught that afternoon.
He usually loved it, teaching people how to express themselves through movement, but the pain was distracting.
He spent the evening with an icepack on his knee, hoping against the odds that he’d be fine for the group workout tomorrow morning.
It was the first session with what he’d been mentally referring to as the splinter group.
He didn’t want to skip it, didn’t want to let Darius… or the others down.
Apparently, knees don’t answer to a higher power, because no amount of praying had done anything to make Jamie’s feel better.
It was Saturday, though, and despite the pain, he wasn’t going to let his group down.
His flatmates were still asleep, unlikely to be out of bed before late afternoon based on the time he’d heard them stumbling in late last night, or early that morning, really.
The group chat was already pinging as he leaned against the pink laminate worktop in his kitchen, sipping his tea while he scrolled.
Chi
Where in the park are we meeting?
Darius
In front of Millennium Arena. There’s a track we can use.
A thumbs up from Chi. Jamie switched over to his map app. He wasn’t very familiar with the area, being basically the opposite side of London from his flat.
Claire
We should get brunch after.
Adam
Definitely.
Adam was always up for anything Claire suggested, so that was no surprise. Jamie tossed his things into a backpack and left as loudly as he could. Payback to his flatmates for waking him up last night, though he suspected they were too dead to the world to even notice.
It looked like District line to Embankment, then a change to the Northern Line all the way to Battersea.
That was manageable, long, but at least it was only one change.
Jamie had been in London for nearly six years and still spent way too much money on Ubers because he couldn’t be arsed with navigating multiple changes on the tube.
He still had actual nightmares about his first time changing at Bank.
This was easy, though. Hopefully, he’d get a seat and be able to rest his knee a bit, then he’d be totally fine to run this morning.
Arriving at the park, Jamie walked carefully towards the track entrance, wincing as pain stabbed up his leg with every step. Darius was already leaning against the gate, his deep brown skin glowing bronze in the early light. His dark eyes narrowed on Jamie as he approached.
“You’re injured,” Darius said by way of greeting. “What did you do?”
It sounded more accusatory than caring.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Darius argued. “You’re favouring your left side significantly, and you’re wincing in pain with every step.”