Page 9 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)

There was nothing quite so humbling as a one-on-one interval session with Ellison.

Darius prided himself on being a disciplined athlete.

He trained hard on his own, he had his nutrition down to a science, and rested exactly as much as was prescribed—never a minute more.

But even after all these years working together, Ellison never failed to push him to his limits.

It was a helpful distraction from the media storm his life had become over the past few days.

The news had spread. Of course, the story had been further sensationalised and with each new headline, and new accusation printed about him, Darius could see his Olympic dreams slipping further and further away.

With a hard workout behind him, Darius downed a shake and threw on joggers and a hoodie. He was gathering his things to head home and refuel properly when Ellison stopped him.

“Join me for a cuppa?” he asked.

Darius nodded and followed his coach out of the park, crossing the bridge back to Chelsea as the cold air bit at his hands.

These days, it was rare for Ellison to stick around after training.

When he was younger, he had been more present, almost a father figure to Darius at a time when his own father had been too busy salvaging the family name after Darius’s mother left.

They walked in silence, both focused more on keeping warm and getting to their destination than on whatever conversation Ellison had in mind. Darius was curious, but he was content to let Ellison take things in his own time.

Ellison pushed open the door to a café with a modern industrial feel to it. All reclaimed wood and metal seating. Someone sitting near the window was digging into a full English that made Darius’s mouth water, but it was definitely not in his meal plan.

Ellison caught his gaze. “Go for it, Darius. You earned it this morning, kid.”

Darius hesitated. That wasn’t something he did.

He didn’t go off plan for anything. But Ellison was looking at him like somehow, the world depended on him agreeing to that greasy plate of bacon and eggs.

The café was hipster central, so there was a bit of avocado and grilled mushroom on the side, which probably made it healthier.

Taking a seat, Darius eyed Ellison. “What’s this about, Coach?”

Ellison lifted the menu. His expression gave nothing away. “Just want to chat, see how you’re holding up,” he said as he scanned the menu. “I’ll pop our orders in, then we can talk.”

Ellison left the table to place their orders at the till. Darius sat in silence, a sort of unease drifting over him.

When Ellison finally returned, carrying two coffees, black with no sugar for Darius. He took his seat, and a contemplative look came over his face. He exhaled, setting his coffee cup down gently on the table.

“How are you, Darius?”

Darius sighed. He didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine, I’m focusing on my training, getting ready for London.”

Ellison looked at him, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What do you love about running, son?”

Darius furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? I’ve always done it. I’ve always loved it.”

“Yes, but why?”

“I…” Darius’s voice faltered. “Home was all pressure and expectation. Running was the one place I felt like myself. It connected me to Gran; everyone used to talk about how much she loved watching Ethiopia dominate in the marathon. So, even though I never got to know her, it was like… something, a thread between us. And I was good at it—not because of the money or the title, just because of me.”

Ellison nodded, a soft smile returning to his face. “She’d have been proud of the man you’ve become, Darius.”

Darius grimaced. “Would she?”

“Don’t assume everyone subscribes to the politics of the country they were born in, Darius,” Ellison chided him gently. “Your grandmother would have wanted you to be happy and fully yourself.”

Darius nodded, unsure what more to say. He sipped his coffee slowly as Ellison continued.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important,” Ellison said. “Later this year, I’m retiring.”

Darius frowned deeply, but it wasn’t really a surprise. He didn’t speak immediately. He simply watched his coach, waiting for more.

“I’ve been at this for a long time, and I’ve had the privilege of coaching some of the best runners in the world—including you and Jennings. But it’s time to move on, spend more time with my family now Em’s in remission”

“I’m sorry,” Darius replied. “Of course, you should prioritise time with her.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. “Is that why Anders...?”

“I’ve no doubt the Athletic Association saw the writing on the wall and wanted to bring someone younger in, give them a shot.”

Darius took a long sip of his coffee.

Ellison continued, “I want to see you and Jennings on that Olympic team, Darius. Even if I’m not there to coach it. You’ve earned it.”

Darius finally spoke, voice quieter than usual. “Anders will never let me on it. I don’t even understand what I did to make him hate me so much, but now he’s got everyone convinced I’m some sort of homophobe . There’s no way I’ll sway the rest of the selection committee.”

“It’s not something you did, Darius,” Ellison admitted. “I’ve known Eric Anders for a long time, and he’s a great coach, brilliant even, but the man can hold a grudge.”

“He really does believe what he’s saying about me, then?” Darius asked. “That I’m just a darker-skinned copy of a grandfather I don’t even remember?”

Ellison sighed. “It’s not my place, Darius. What I can tell you is that I doubt it’s about you at all. Eric and your father go back a long way. But either way, you need to prove to him that you aren’t who he thinks you are.”

“And who does he think I am?”

“A privileged, close-minded brat that only cares about his own success.”

Darius cringed. “Don’t hold back or anything.”

Their food arrived. The bacon and sausages that had looked so appealing before seemed to taunt him.

“I know you care about more than accolades, Darius, but you’ve got to prove it to him.”

Darius let out a sarcastic laugh. “It might not be all I care about, but it’s all I’ve got going for me. I thought he wanted to win?”

“Not at the expense of what he considers his integrity.”

Darius cut into the bacon angrily as Ellison continued. “Darius, I’ve known you since you were ye’ high.” Ellison gestured to his knees, which was probably an exaggeration, but it got the point across. “I know you think you always need to win, but it shouldn’t define you.”

Darius nodded in agreement. It was true that Ellison had been around for a long time, but Darius couldn’t fully reconcile his coach’s advice with what his father had always said and what he had come to believe during his career as a professional athlete. Second place was the first loser.

“Sometimes winning isn’t about coming in first.”

“Okay, Yoda,” Darius snarked.

Ellison let out a soft sigh. “You want to really prove to Anders that he’s wrong about you.”

“God, yes.”

“But you don’t want to tell—“

“No,” Darius interrupted. “Or at least, not when there’s really nothing to tell.”

“Waiting on the one, are you?”

Darius ducked his head. “Something like that.”

“You need an angle if you don’t want your personal business out there. You’ll need to show him you’re a team player in other ways.”

“Like what?” Darius asked.

“Charity work, donations. Shake hands, kiss babies—go all out.”

Darius wrinkled his nose. “You want me to be a politician?”

“They do it cause it works, Darius. Anders may never come around, but the selection committee is more than one person. He might have their ear right now, but if you can show them he’s wrong…”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Darius nodded. It made sense.

“And I think you should consider pulling out of the London Marathon.”

Darius did a double-take, nearly spitting his coffee over his barely touched breakfast. “What?”

“Pace the marathon, support the runners from your clinic group to hit their goals.”

“But London’s the last marathon before selection.”

“You’ve already got the times; there’s virtually no chance of any Brit topping them.”

“What about Owens?” Darius countered.

“What about him?” Ellison replied. “You’ve got nearly four minutes on his PR. He’s not coming for your times. But he will get your spot anyway if you can’t prove you can be a team player.”

It was a lot to think about. Darius knew Ellison wasn’t wrong, but pacing the marathon was something only has-beens and do-gooder celebrities did.

Plus, he never missed London, it was his home race, and his favourite one in the calendar.

He’d only won it once, two years ago, and there was nothing like breaking the tape on the Mall, surrounded by screaming supporters.

It was the best feeling on earth. Could he really give that up for a long shot at the Olympics?

“I’ll think about it,” he replied.

“That’s all I ask.”

A silence settled over the table, heavier than the café‘s bustling commotion could overcome. Darius swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Ellison’s eyes. “You sure about this, Coach? Retirement?”

Ellison smiled again. “Yeah, kid. I’m sure.”

He wanted to be supportive. He knew Ellison needed this, but it felt like the end of an era. Retiring was a big deal. He’d have to find a new coach. Of course, Jackson would too. They could cross that bridge when it came, though.

“What have you got planned then?” he asked.

Ellison’s face lit up. “Well, first, I’m taking the missus on a Caribbean cruise.”