Page 13 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)

Jamie had honestly thought he’d been masking it pretty well; he was good at hiding pain, at smiling through it— the show must go on .

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened, I’m fine.”

“I’ll just have to assume you did something idiotic then. Fall off the stage at your show?”

Jamie tilted his head. “I’m in between jobs at the moment, and I’d never fall off the stage. You only do that once before you figure out to stay pretty damn far from the edge.”

A smile was tugging at the corner of Darius’s lips, but it was quickly tamped down. “Whatever, you’re sitting this one out.”

“I’m bloody not.”

Their conversation stopped abruptly as Claire arrived, followed shortly after by Chi and Adam.

They all seemed enthusiastic to get going.

Mark sauntered up last, and Jamie couldn’t help but notice the slight curl of distaste that passed over Darius’s face when he did.

Mark was abrasive, but he wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t griping about his fundraising target as if he were the only person who had one.

Jamie just figured there was a better approach than constantly whingeing about it to everyone he met.

Though maybe he wasn’t the best judge of that, he wasn’t exactly closing in on his target despite all he’d done to get the word out.

“Now that we’re all here. Let’s get warmed up, give me a couple of slow laps, then meet back here for strides and stretches.”

The group set off. “Not you, Jamie,” Darius half-shouted.

Jamie slowed to a stop, shooting a glare at Darius despite the sharp pain in his knee, reminding him this was definitely the right call. He walked back to stand beside Darius while the rest of the group kept warming up.

“What’s your issue with Mark?”

Darius arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Seriously?”

Jamie shrugged in response.

“He’s been messaging me nonstop about his charity target. I already gave him a hundred quid on the first day of the clinic, but he’s relentless now.”

“I haven’t seen anything in the chat.”

Darius turned fully to Jamie. “He’s been messaging me directly.”

Shit, that was probably Jamie’s fault. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. “I did tell him not to keep talking about it in the group chat, I didn’t realise he would…”

“Not your fault.”

“It kind of is, though,” Jamie argued.

Darius laughed. “Is this like a compulsion for you? Do you have to disagree with everything I say?”

Nodding gravely, Jamie replied. “I’m afraid it’s programmed into my DNA; it’s an automatic response to received pronunciation. I hear that boarding school accent and the claws come out.”

“Fair enough,” Darius replied.

“Mark’s like that with everyone, though, constantly hounds the rest of us about donating, as if we don’t have our own targets to worry about.”

Darius turned back to watch the approaching group. “And how close are you to hitting yours?” he asked.

“I’m doing alright,” Jamie lied. “I think Adam’s struggling the most with it, but he’d never admit it.”

A look passed over Darius’s face. Jamie was willing to bet that he’d just had an idea.

Their conversation was interrupted as the group returned and Darius led them through a series of stretches, which he did let Jamie join in on, before moving the rest of the group onto some 50m strides down the track.

“We were going to do a Fartlek today,” Darius started. Jamie and Claire caught each other’s eye and struggled to suppress giggles. Darius rolled his eyes in Jamie’s direction. “It’s a Swedish speed drill.”

Jamie gave him a mock salute, unable to completely wipe the grin from his face.

“But I thought we might make things interesting,” Darius continued.

The group shifted, looking at each other. That could mean anything.

“You all have fundraising targets you’re trying to hit, right? And some of you have been pretty vocal about how hard that is.”

Claire shot a glare at Mark, who shrugged in response.

“So I’m proposing a challenge,” he announced. “A 5km race, on the track. Winner gets their full fundraising target covered by me.”

“Well, I’m in,” Mark said.

Darius moved back towards Jamie. “Figured that,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Is that fair, though? Jamie’s injured, he won’t be able to participate,” Adam interjected.

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. “I’m good, I don’t need handouts.” He absolutely did need handouts, actually. His total was still sitting at just over half, but no fucking way would he ever admit it here.

Darius grinned at him, and Jamie felt like he was seeing the sunrise for the first time. He was fucking gorgeous like that. Dammit. He was crushing on Darius. Jamie hated it when Reggie was right.

“Jamie can help me judge. I think it might be a close race.”

“Can I call the start?” Jamie asked.

Darius nodded.

There was some jostling as the four runners lined up along the track.

“This should go without saying, but any attempts to shove, trip or otherwise sabotage each other will immediately disqualify you. This is a running race, not a football match,” Darius drawled with a pointed look at Mark.

Once they had all more or less settled on the start line, Jamie raised his hands in the air. “Ready. Steady!” With a dramatic flourish, he swiped his hands down through the air as he shouted. “Go!”

He could tell as soon as they started that they’d all set off far too fast. Jamie had learned that lesson early in his training.

Mark was probably the worst culprit, sprinting around the first half of the track and gaining a sizeable lead.

Until, of course, he had to settle to a normal pace, and the gap started to close back up.

“Idiot,” Darius mumbled under his breath, making Jamie snort out a laugh.

For a few moments, they stood together, watching in silence.

Jamie started to feel restless. He looked longingly towards the hard metal stands that lined the track.

Darius followed his gaze. “We could sit,” he said haltingly.

Then, more confidently, he added, “It would be better for your knee.”

“And hip,” Jamie said, unsure why he offered the information.

Darius furrowed his dark brow. “That sounds like an illiotal band issue. Did you hurt it in training? I told you, you were overstriding.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. Darius was almost as irritating as he was pretty. They crossed the track towards the seating. Jamie could feel the cold of the metal stinging even through his joggers as he lowered himself to the bench. “I noticed it after my recovery run.”

“Did you rest up? Ice it?”

Jamie nodded. “I iced it. And I haven’t been on a run since then. Resting completely is hardly an option, though, not with a career in theatre.”

“Rest is essential to recovery.”

“Alas, working is essential to paying for rent and food.”

“Aren’t you in between jobs right now?”

“Yeah, which means I have to teach classes and constantly practice so I stay ready for auditions.”

Jamie knew he was burning himself out. He was taking dance or performance classes as often as he possibly could, though he knew he’d have to keep it light next week if the pain persisted.

His lecturers in drama school had drilled it into his head that he needed to keep up his craft; if you aren’t being paid to perform, you should be paying to perform.

That combined with picking up as many shifts as he could, covering teachers at his local studio and the fundraising graft, well, it was a lot.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jamie said.

He saw the shift in Darius immediately, the way his eyes shuttered as he replied. “Oh, and why is that?”

There was a bite to his voice that Jamie didn’t like, but he doubled down anyway.

“People like you love to say the rest of us need to work harder, focus more, but the reality is that the ability to focus in on your dreams is a privilege not many of us have,” Jamie said.

“Rest and recovery is a privilege I sure as shit don’t have time for. ”

“Everyone has the same twenty-four hours in a day,” Darius replied.

“Like fuck they do,” Jamie countered. “Some of us’ve got to fucking work to eat, you biff.”

“I know that, obviously.”

“Do you, though? Maybe you know it, like, intellectually. But I don’t think you really get what that means.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, both staring out at the track. Jamie didn’t regret what he said, though. Darius was out of line; he just, well, it was obvious he meant well, but he was wrong.

The group was just over halfway, coming up on their seventh lap.

“I apologise for being insensitive to your situation,” Darius interrupted the silence. “But…”

“Of course, there’s a but.” Jamie rolled his eyes.

“But you should at least try to see a physio. You won’t be able to keep training if you don’t get that sorted, and it could affect your career as well.”

It was like Darius had dumped a bucket of ice water over Jamie.

He was right . The problem, of course, was that without an active contract, Jamie couldn’t risk the cost of physio; he was already starting to stress about his rent.

It was frustrating as hell because, for all intents and purposes, Jamie had made it.

He’d been in multiple West End shows and big-budget tours, made most of his money through his art—and that was a bloody pipedream for so many performers.

London was expensive, though, and getting more so every year, even as his wages went in the opposite direction.

He’d always known there would be lean times, but lately they were starting to increase in number.

“Please,” Darius asked. He looked at Jamie imploringly, and Jamie just didn’t have it in him to argue anymore.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get it checked out.”

The group was entering their final kilometre. Jamie stood up slowly, walking back over to the track.

“Who do you think will take it?” he asked as Darius followed close behind. It looked close, which made sense; they were all aiming for roughly the same marathon times after all.