Page 15 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)

Darius

S unday lunch at his family manor was never something Darius looked forward to, but it was a necessary evil. If he wanted to see Selena and keep his father off his back about his career, he had to submit to the charade every so often.

Darius got out of the taxi at the lower gate, leaving a generous tip for the driver.

The long walk up the gravel drive to the house would give him time to collect his thoughts, at least. He hadn’t brought anything with him, hoping that he’d be able to get away early enough to catch the last train back to London and sleep in his own bed.

The townhouse may not officially be his, just another extension of his father’s vast holdings, but it felt more like home than this place ever had.

Or at least, more than this place had since his mum had left.

Darius’s relationship with his father was… complicated, to say the least. He knew he cared about him and Selena, of course. He’d cared enough to stick around at least, which he’d learned at fifteen was not a guarantee when it came to parents. He was a difficult man, though.

The Duke had been a runner once. He was the star of the Oxford cross-country team, to hear him tell it, but he’d never pursued it professionally. Duties to the duchy and to fatherhood had consumed him at a young age, both thrust upon him when Darius’s grandparents died just after Darius’s birth.

Darius understood him better now. As an adult, he could see the immense pressure his father must have been under.

But that didn’t erase a childhood full of terse reminders of his failings, of closed doors and cold words.

And it didn’t change the disappointment Darius was certain his father still carried about the way he lived his life.

As the manor came into view, Darius took in the perfectly manicured rosebushes that lined the drive, planted by his grandmother, a wealthy Ethiopian woman who had been swept off her feet by his grandfather when she’d studied at Oxford.

When he was young, people had always framed it as a great love story, but Darius had since wondered if love was really the right word for erasing every trace of a person’s heritage, as his grandfather had done.

There was hardly anything of his grandmother’s roots in their house.

Darius’s father knew next to nothing about the country his own mother had been raised in, apart from their athletic prowess, which he liked to reference whenever it suited him—typically to remind Darius he should be more successful.

Darius himself knew more about the country than his father, though that knowledge had come more from his interactions with other runners than from any familial connection.

The heavy door swung open as Darius approached, and Selena bounded out, tousled curls bouncing as she skipped over to him. “You came!” She squealed.

Darius lowered her to the ground and extricated himself from her arms. “It wasn’t exactly optional.”

A tall figure had appeared in the doorway, and they both fell silent abruptly. He wasn’t a physically imposing man, but he had an aura about him that never failed to make Darius feel small. He didn’t leave the doorway as he addressed them. “You’re late, Son.”

“Apologies, Father,” Darius replied. “The train was delayed.”

“I don’t see why you won’t just hire a car. Or purchase one.”

“I hardly need one in London.”

This was familiar, innocuous comments that added up to an unwavering disapproval of Darius’s lifestyle.

Darius’s father ushered them into the formal dining room, where the staff had laid out a roast dinner.

Darius picked at his potatoes as his father directed his attention to Selena.

Darius had been expecting an interrogation, so he was relieved she had provided a distraction, which only made him feel guilty.

Selena, though, had been keeping a secret, even from Darius, and it seemed their father had found out.

She’d had her university acceptance letters back and had broken family tradition by not even applying to Oxford. She’d been accepted to an American University, on a full scholarship for rowing.

“I just don’t see why you need to go so far; there are plenty of excellent universities in England if you don’t want to attend Oxford.”

“They offered me a full scholarship. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

Darius stayed quiet as his father pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need a scholarship, Selena.”

“I just want to do something for myself, for once.”

Darius understood that. As much as he hated that she hadn’t told him, that burning need to carve your own path was one he was intimately familiar with.

The weight of the Hewitt legacy was a heavy one.

Of course, to their father, nothing they did would ever be good enough unless it was the precise path he’d laid out for them.

Selena’s ability to silence their father made Darius feel like the nearly nine-year age difference between them was completely reversed.

She held her ground despite their father’s face growing tenser and tenser until he lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Darius could see a single vein throbbing in his forehead.

Oxford didn’t have the course she wanted, and she had a full ride, so she didn’t need his support either way.

End of story.

The downside of the distraction meant that by the time he did get around to Darius’s ‘issues,’ the Duke was already pretty much at the end of his rope for parental patience—not that it was a particularly long rope that one.

He bypassed any niceties and went straight into questioning Darius about the Olympics.

“What have you heard about the next round of selections?” he asked.

Darius winced. “Nothing much, I suppose we’ll see what happens after the London marathon. It may shake things up,” he replied. “Though it would take a miracle at this point for my name to be on that list.”

“And why is that?” his father asked. “I was given to understand you were in top form this year.”

Darius nodded. “That isn’t the only consideration, I’m sure you’ve seen the papers.”

His father set down his fork and looked straight at Darius. “I could speak to the committee.”

Darius hardened his resolve. “No, this is a setback, but I’m dealing with it.”

“And what are you doing to deal with it ? Do you want to speak with my press team? Have you looked at different altitude camps for London?”

Darius took a breath. “I won’t be racing London.”

“What do you mean you won’t race London?” his father chuckled. “It’s the last chance to show you’re the best before final selection.”

“I don’t need another win to sway them, I’ll be pacing it. Times aren’t the issue.”

Darius felt the full weight of his father’s stare, the one that had the House of Lords kowtowing to him in debates. “Then what, pray tell, is the issue?”

God, he felt like he was about ten years old again.

Was he really going to say the new coach didn’t like him?

“You’ll have seen the rumours circulating about my…

attitude. Coach Anders has the ear of the committee, and they’re employing discretionary selection this year.

Anders has made it very clear that based on our family’s political record, his vision for the team does not include a Hewitt. ”

His father seemed to whither in on himself. “Eric Anders. Of course,” he sighed.

Darius looked at him quizzically, the defeated look unusual on his father’s face.

“And you think pacing the marathon will somehow help you?” his father asked.

“I need to show the rest of the committee I’m not the type of person Anders and the press have implied,” Darius answered.

“So, it’s a public relations move, focusing on the rest of the committee,” his father nodded. “I can see how that may work,” he admitted. “Though I still think a win would serve you best.”

Darius was shocked; it was damn near close to endorsement for his plan, well, Ellison’s plan. Darius knew he’d surprised everyone, including himself, when he’d announced it at his training group, but now, well, it felt right.

“Eric bloody Anders,“ his father muttered as he pushed himself back from the table, tossing his napkin down next to his half-eaten meal. “Excuse me,” he said. He left the room in silence. Selena and Darius looked at each other, uncertain as to what had just transpired.

Alone with Selena, Darius allowed himself to relax.

“So, America? Really?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I was so nervous about Dad,” Selena rushed out.

“It’s fine, Lena. Just, are you sure?”

Selena sighed. “Honestly, no. It’s a big deal moving abroad, and I’d miss seeing you.”

“I’m over there a lot for races; we’d still see each other nearly as much as we do now.”

“I know, but I don’t want Dad to feel like I’m leaving him.” Like Mum did was the unspoken truth that hung between them. Darius got up from the table and gestured for her to follow him. “Walk me out?”

Selena nodded and followed. Once they were at what Darius deemed a safe enough distance from the house to speak his mind, he started. “You know he’s the adult, not you, right?”

“I know that, Darius.”

Darius scoffed.

“I’m serious, I do. And I know you two don’t see eye to eye, but I can’t imagine him here on his own.”

“He has friends, Lena, or staff at least,” Darius said. “Listen, regardless of where you go, you’ll be away from home. You need to make the choice that’s best for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied. “I’m not great at that, putting myself first.”

Darius laughed. “I can give you lessons if you want. I’m great at it. In fact, I couldn’t have picked a more selfish career if I tried .”

“Well, that sounded pointed. Who’s been saying shit like that to you, and can I punch them?”