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This is going to be, hands down, the hardest thing Jack has ever had to do. The past couple years have been full of hard things, but this? This is like taking out a piece of his heart and handing it over, and he doesn’t know if the place it once occupied will ever stop aching or be filled again.
Eighteen months ago.
“Look, I know you don’t like me, but I love Race and want to do this right, and you’re the closest thing to a parent he’s got.”
Jack supposed, somewhere deep in his mind, he knew this was coming. Spot and Race had been together for years. They lived together. They had two goddamn cats. That didn’t mean he was ready. Nothing could have truly prepared him.
He wanted to say ‘no’. In fact, he almost did, but then he pictured the look on his little brother’s face—the one he always got when he looked at Spot, of pure love and admiration. Spot was good to Race. He was good for Race. Jack would have been so, so selfish to say ‘no’.
He still wanted to.
“Race don’t need my permission to do nothin’,” he answered in a sigh.
“I know,” Spot said. “I ain’t askin’ your permission.”
Jack understood. His approval, his blessing , would mean the world to Race. “I just want Race to be happy.”
That was the one thing on which he and Spot always saw eye to eye.
“Do I look okay?” Race asks, fidgeting nervously with one of his suspenders.
“You look great,” Jojo assures him, and thank god he does, because Jack is sure if he opens his mouth, only a sob will come out.
Race does look great. He’s dressed in black shoes and pants, a white shirt with subtle embroidery down the front and the sleeves rolled neatly up to his elbows, black suspenders, and a blue bow tie. They even had a professional come in to do his hair and a little bit of makeup. He had been worried that he would look like a waiter, but he doesn’t. He looks like a male model.
“Jack, what do you think?”
Jack swallows hard around the painful lump in his throat. “You look fantastic, Racer. Spot’s not gonna know what hit him.”
Race breaks out into a grin, and Jack feels the crack in his heart that has been growing for the last eighteen months split open wider.
One year ago.
Jack would never say a word, especially not to Race, but he was absolutely crushed.
He never expected to be Race’s best man. Albert had known Race just as long as Jack, and even though they weren’t foster brothers, they were just as close. It made sense that Race would choose him. Jack knew he would choose him, but there was still that little inkling of hope, and it still stung a little when he did.
Jack had very much expected to be a groomsman. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that he wouldn’t be.
When Race chose Jojo and Elmer instead, Jack was absolutely crushed.
He had grown up in the foster system, mother dead and father in prison, never adoptable because his father still had rights, always ignored when he wasn’t in trouble, but he had never felt as worthless and unwanted as the day he found out his little brother didn’t want him to stand with him while he got married.
He made excuses to stay away from Race for a week, despite Race trying again and again to reach out, as if nothing was wrong. Jack had to remind himself that, to Race, nothing was wrong. He wasn’t a mind reader. He wasn’t privy to Jack’s private breakdown.
Eventually, Jack ran out of excuses and agreed to meet Race for lunch and their favorite café, where they always used to go as kids. The owner, Mr. Jacobi, used to let them wipe down tables or clean some dishes in exchange for food and drinks, which was a damn good deal for a couple of growing ‘juvenile delinquents’. It was where Race had gotten his first real, part-time job in high school. It was special, and the invitation to meet Race at Jacobi’s did just a little bit to soothe the burn Jack had been feeling.
Jack arrived first and was nursing a cup of black coffee when Race breezed in, cheeks flushed slightly from the warm, June air. He glanced around the café until his eyes landed on Jack, and a blinding smile cracked across his face.
Race had been so happy, the last six months. No matter how miserable Jack was, he knew he had made the right decision.
“Hey,” Race said as he slid into the booth across from Jack. “How’s life? How’s work? How’s—”
Jack chuckled, “Slow down, kid. Everything’s good.” A lie.
Race smiled again, a little softer this time, maybe even a little apologetic? “I need to talk to you about the wedding.”
Of course you do.
Jack raised his coffee cup to his lips to disguise the displeasure on his face. “Shoot,” he said, taking a sip.
“Well, it’s just that—,” Race sighed. “Jack, you’re the only family I got, and I was wondering...” He pulled his bottom lip in nervously. That was it, Jack realized; he wasn’t apologetic, he was nervous. “Will you give me away?”
Jack blinked a couple times, then a couple more times. “Wh— Give you away?” He had already given Race away, six months earlier, and it had hurt like hell.
Race nodded. “Please? It would mean a lot to me.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asked. “I mean, that’s usually for a bride.”
“A bride, I know,” Race spoke over the end of his sentence, “but you’re my brother, you’re the most important person in my life, and I—” He faltered, then repeated, “It would mean a lot to me.”
He looked so nervous, but so hopeful, and how could Jack ever say no to him? “Of course, Race.”
His face went slack with relief. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jack replied. “I’d be honored.”
Race looks a little pale in the reflection as he straightens his already-straight bow tie for the third time. He looks towards his groomsmen—more accurately, towards their feet. “Can I have a minute with Jack, please?”
Jack’s heart leaps as the three nod, Jojo smiling knowingly, and they shuffle out towards the hallway. He meets Race’s eyes in the mirror and forces a supportive smile on his face, when all he wants to do is grab him and beg, beg on his knees, for him to stay. Don’t get married. Be my little brother for a little longer, now.
The door closes and Race turns. His baby blue eyes are wide and his lips parted slightly. Jack knows that look. He’s overwhelmed.
They meet in the middle. Race throws his arms around Jack’s shoulders, and Jack wraps his around Race’s middle. Jack still can’t believe Little Race is taller than him, even though it’s only by a little, and even though he has been for years now.
“Thank you,” Race whispers, and there’s a little catch in his voice that makes it hard for Jack to breathe.
“For what?”
“Everything. For being my brother. For always looking out for me.”
“Always,” Jack responds quickly, before the tightness in his throat and the prickling behind his eyes can close in. He holds Race tight and tries to enjoy being the most important person in his life for just a little longer.
Six months ago.
“Am I doing the right thing? Should I—” Race’s voice catches hard. “—call it off?”
Oh, if that wasn’t the most loaded question.
Wedding planning had been stressful on Race and Spot—and Jack, for that matter, maybe more so than either of the grooms—and apparently there had been a pretty bad argument. When Race had called in tears, asking if he could come over, Jack had immediately gone into Protective Big Brother Mode. He would kill Spot, and he would do it slowly, painfully, really drag it out and make him regret making Race cry, because no one made Jack’s little brother cry.
This was Jack’s chance. One word would end this whole thing. Race would call off the wedding and go on being Jack’s little brother. But, of course, Jack saw the desperation in Race’s eyes, and he couldn’t say that word.
He sighed and sat down next to Race on the couch. “Do you want to call it off?”
“No,” Race sniffled. “God, no.”
“Then don’t.”
Race looked surprised, shocked even, at his firm response. Then, surprise gave way to relief.
Jack continued, “Racer, I’ve never seen anything or anyone make you as happy as Spot does, and he cares about you. Really.” He looked down at his lap, forcing the words out, despite everything in him screaming to tell Race to call it off, protect him, do whatever it takes to keep him, just like always. “You’ve got somethin’ some people wait their whole lives for. You’d be crazy to give that up.”
True as that was, Jack couldn’t help but feel like he was crazy for giving Race up.
Walking Race down the aisle isn’t hard. He’s happy, the happiest Jack has ever seen him, and his energy seems to flow through his arm into Jack’s. The chapel is beautiful, but simple, decorated in soft red, white, and blue. It looks like a weirdly formal Fourth of July celebration, but Jack knows it’s Race and Spot’s favorite colors. He thinks absently that Spot must have picked the place—Race would have picked someone much more...extravagant—but Race must have decorated—Spot probably wouldn’t have decorated at all.
God, they’re perfect for each other, aren’t they?
They’re going to be so, so happy together, and walking Race into that is easy as anything.
Letting go is harder.
Letting go is nigh impossible .
Because Race is starting a new chapter in his life, and Jack is not. Race is starting a chapter in which he won’t go to Jack with his problems anymore, and Jack won’t be his rock. Jack has gotten so used to being the man in Race’s life. He’s not sure he knows how to be anything else.
The entire side of his body where Race just stood feels numb as Race steps away. Jack collapses into a seat in the front row and tries to pull air back into his lungs. It feels like Race took it all with him. It feels like Race took everything with him.
The ceremony passes in a blur and is over all too quickly, and then Race is Spot’s husband.They take pictures. Jack is in a few. He wonders if he looks as hollow as he feels. They have the reception outside, under the stairs, with lanterns and fairy lights. It’s absolutely beautiful, but none of it outshines Race, who hasn’t stopped smiling since the moment he laid eyes on Spot in the chapel. He’s the best the world has to offer, Jack thinks. He hopes Spot knows and appreciates what he has and how lucky he is to have it. Jack excuses himself about an hour in. He needs a moment alone.
Seventeen years ago.
Jack had been at this particular foster home for six months, when the social worker brought another little boy, a few years younger than Jack, with blond curls in desperate need of a cut, a bottom front tooth missing, and the bluest eyes Jack had ever—and would ever—see.
“I’m Jack.”
“I’m Race. Are you my brother, now?”
It was the first of many times Jack couldn’t tell him no.
“Oh, for the love a’— There you are!”
Jack hurriedly wipes his eyes as Spot approaches, but it doesn't do much good. He’s obviously crying, and the last person he wants to see him cry is his little brother’s husband.
“We’ve been looking all over for you!” Spot says. “Race is freaking out.”
Jack is genuinely surprised they noticed his absence. There’s no bitterness or malice to the thought; this isn’t about him, so why should they notice? He doesn’t matter anymore, and although the fact makes him ache in places so deep inside his chest he never knew they existed, he can’t blame them.
It’s quiet, and for a moment, Jack thinks Spot is going to walk away. Instead, Spot sighs. “Look, I know we don’t get along. I know you don’t like me. But we’re brothers, now, so can you just—” He sighs again. “Just try? If not for me, then for Race.”
For Race.
God, Jack would do anything for Race.
He smiles bitterly. There’s nothing he can give but the truth. “It’s just that—” He stops for a moment and closes his eyes. His voice is raw from crying. He sounds pathetic. “He’s my little brother, y’know?”
“Jack, he’s always gonna be your little brother.” After another quiet moment, Spot sits next to him on the little bench he’s commandeered. “Do you know why I asked for your blessing to marry Race, even though I knew I didn’t need your permission?”
Jack scoffs. “No, why?”
“Because Race would’ve said no,” Spot says. “Without your blessing, I didn’t have a chance.”
Jack doesn’t know what to say to that. Is that true? Would Race have turned Spot down, if Jack hadn’t given the go-ahead?
Spot stands up and starts slowly back towards the reception. “I’ll tell Race you’re on a phone call or something. Don’t stay away too long, okay?”
“Spot?”
“Yeah?”
Jack hesitates. He hadn’t fully decided to speak, when Spot’s name came out of his mouth, but it’s too late now. “You’re a good guy. Take good care of him.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“I hate your guts.”
Spot chuckles. “I know.”
Jack takes another minute after Spot leaves to pull himself together, then returns to the reception, where Race promptly drags him into a ‘brother-brother’ dance. As always, Jack can’t tell him no, but he thinks the whole time about everything Spot said.
He catches Spot’s eye, and they share a patient eye roll as Race haphazardly flings himself and Jack around the makeshift dance floor.
Maybe, Jack dares to think, he didn’t lose a brother when Race and Spot got married. Maybe he gained one.