Page 6 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)
“I’m not going to give you eight hundred quid,” Darius replied.
Everyone was fundraising for a different good cause , obviously.
If it were really such a great one, he’d just donate directly.
Darius was well aware that none of these people were running for charities because they cared about the cause.
They were just doing it to get a place if they missed a shot at the ballot.
The London marathon had been oversubscribed as far back as he could remember, probably since its inaugural event.
If you weren’t getting in on a ‘good for age’ time, then the odds really weren’t in your favour—unless you ran for a charity.
Going around asking people to sponsor you for something you wanted to do anyway had always seemed like a bit of a con to Darius.
“Why the bloody hell not?” the man groused. “What are you here for then? Cause it certainly ain’t motivation.”
Darius felt, well, exactly how he’d expected to feel after this, disappointed. People only bothered to speak to him because they wanted money from him, as expected, and Anders seemed to be just waiting for him to say something wrong so he could take another dig at him.
This had been utterly pointless.
He gathered his things and dismissed the group with a dejected wave before darting into the cold night air and flagging a passing black cab to avoid the awkward walk to the station with everyone.
Out of the corner of his eye as he climbed into the back of the cab, he spotted Jamie. His posture was tense, curls blowing in the breeze as he gesticulated wildly at the man who had, for lack of a better term, chased him off.
The ride home was long; it would have been faster to take the tube, but he didn’t regret it for a second.
Darius didn’t want to spend any more time around those people than necessary.
His phone buzzed in his bag, and he fished it out of the hidden pocket he’d stashed it in.
His sister, Selena’s voice came through the speaker, bright and teasing.
“So, big bro, how was your first session as a big, scary Coach? You whip them into shape?” she asked, laughter clear in her tone.
Darius groaned, running a hand through his hair as he sank further into the seat. “It was a nightmare,” he muttered. “Anders was ordering me around, and almost everyone asked me for money. Or stood around filming themselves.”
“You didn’t want to get in on the TikTok action?”
“I can barely keep my Instagram updated; I’m not going anywhere near the clock app.”
“Oh Lord, I know. We need to talk about these photos you’ve been taking. Trainers and smartwatches? Really? That’s your idea of engaging content?”
“What else am I supposed to post?” he asked defensively. “I’m a runner. That’s all I do.”
He could practically hear her eyes rolling through the phone.
“People care about stories, Darius, not just your marathon time. Why you run. What it feels like. Even the boring stuff like your training routine. You’ve got this whole inspirational thing going for you, but you’re too busy trying to hide behind your finish times to use it. ”
Darius leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to get personal. It’s… complicated, you know that.”
“It’s only as complicated as you make it,” Selena said gently. “You don’t have to share your deepest, darkest secrets. Just… be a little human. Let people see more than the machine that runs a 2:06 marathon. Trust me, it’ll help.”
“2:05:37,” he replied automatically.
Selena laughed. “Of course that’s what you got from that.”
“I don’t see why I should bother.”
“I think you’re just worried the world will figure out you’re actually a grumpy old man trapped in a 26-year-old’s body,” Selena teased.
“Exactly,” Darius deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Seriously, Lena, I don’t have time for social media.”
“Did you at least take a selfie tonight?”
Darius grimaced. “No, I had other things on my mind. God, it was a disaster right from the start. I even tore my favourite hoodie courtesy of a late arrival to the clinic.”
Selena laughed. “Now that sounds like a story.”
“Hardly, he just crashed into me, and we landed hard on the asphalt.”
“Was he cute?”
“He could have injured me, Lena. It doesn’t matter if he was cute.”
Selena laughed again. “That’s not a no,” she teased. “You should ask him out. Or like, see if he wants some private training sessions.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Darius snorted. “I don’t have time to date anyway, not with these clinics on top of my training schedule. I should never have let Jax and Ellison talk me into this.”
“How is Jackson these days?” It sounded innocent, but Darius knew Selena had been harbouring a crush on Jax for years.
“He’s fine. I think he’s fallen for a secret lover and I’m expecting a wedding invitation any day now.”
“You’re fucking with me, right?” Selena asked.
Darius laughed. “Of course I am. Stop crushing on my best friend, it’s weird.” Jackson was too old for Selena. Her crush on him was doubly weird with how intimately acquainted he and Darius had once been, not that Selena was aware of that.
Still, he did not like his baby sister thinking about Jax that way.
“I can’t help that he’s fit,” she complained. Darius rolled his eyes. He loved his sister really.
“I’m sorry about Anders.” Her tone shifted as tentatively she asked, “You going to talk to Dad about it?”
“No, Lena. I want to make things better with Anders, not worse. He’s clearly got an issue with our family—“
Selena interrupted with a laugh. “Who doesn’t?”
“Fair, but you know Dad, he’d go in all heavy-handed, throwing money around, or accusing him of racism, and it would just get Anders to double down.”
“Are you sure it’s not?”
“I’m sure,” Darius sighed. And he was, Anders had made it clear what his issue with the Hewitts was. It was the same one Darius had, the same reason coming out felt so much more loaded for him than it should need to.
“Well, keep up the work at the clinic, I guess?”
Darius was quiet for a moment, staring out the window at the passing cars. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then at least you’ll have tried something different,” Selena said firmly. “Look, Darius, I know you hate this stuff, but it’s part of the game now. You can do this.”
He sighed, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “Thanks, Lena,” he grumbled.
“Anytime,” she replied. Darius hung up, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Maybe she was right, he’d give it his all either way.
Everything was going to be fine. He wouldn’t let this evening’s events derail him.
The discipline he’d built as a marathon runner would see him through this blip in the plan. Success isn’t a sprint after all.
The rest of the ride went by without incident. But not long after he’d arrived home, settling in for the evening with a book and a cup of chamomile tea, he had a text from Selena.
Selena
Looks like you’re going to have to go bigger to fix this, big bro.
He wasn’t sure what she was referring to; they’d only just spoken, but suddenly, Darius’s phone started buzzing incessantly. He hadn’t had quite so many notifications on his phone before, as far as he could recall, anyway.
He knew instinctively that it couldn’t possibly mean anything good.
A link came through, sent by his agent with an angry accompanying message about keeping his head down. The headline hit harder than he’d expected:
Team GB Marathon Upset: Will Hewitt’s politics keep him out of the Olympics
The insinuations were thinly veiled. There was a particularly cutting interview with someone who had apparently been participating in the clinic he’d just left.
They’d moved quickly on this one. The interview was all about his supposed treatment of LGBTQ+ athletes, and that cut particularly deep.
It specifically referenced his pushing Jackson away and supposedly leaving a gay man ‘languishing in pain on the pavement’ after causing him to fall.
The damn thing couldn’t have cherry-picked worse moments.
It wasn’t fair. But…
Was this what people saw?
He’d spent his entire career trying to prove he belonged in the sport on his own merit.
Not by genetic fluke or status. He worked harder than anyone to shed the shadow of his privilege, wanting his victories to belong to him, not the name or heritage he carried, but now it felt like none of it mattered. Of all the things to be accused of.
Darius threw his phone onto the couch, his jaw clenched.
It wasn’t fucking fair.