Jack opened his mouth to say that of course he did, then he remembered how still Simon had stood in his arms. He hadn’t been vibrating with anxiety as he usually was in such moments. He’d been frozen. Resigned. He’d thought he’d already lost.
“Keep talking,” Jack said, and slumped lower in his seat.
“You’re such a romantic, bro. You think if you love him enough you can change the whole world. It’s sweet, but it’s not real. This is how Simon’s brain works. You can’t change that just by loving him to hell and back.”
“I don’t want to change him,” Jack said, but he knew it was a lie before the words even hit the air. He did want things to be different for Simon. Easier. Less painful. “Well. Okay. I...”
“I know, bro. I’ve wanted to change shit for you a hundred times.” Jack opened his mouth to ask when, but Charlie looked away. “Anyway, I think Simon sees how much you wish you could snap your fingers and make things better for him. But when you want that, what you’re wishing is that he was a different person. One he’s never gonna be. And that probably feels like shit.”
Of course. Of course that’s how Simon’s ravenous brain metabolized Jack’s careless words.
Jack thought about being able to reach out and take Simon’s hand in his whenever he wanted. Being able to lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, his brow, his mouth. But the visions that he pictured were out in the world. Holding hands as they chose which flowers to plant or standing close as they reached the summit of a trailhead and gazed at the vista below.
“What was it like,” Jack said slowly. “When we came to dinner. What was it like for you?”
He’d been so focused on Simon that he hadn’t even noticed Charlie’s reaction, other than being grateful his brother had been kind.
“It was hard,” Charlie said. “Hard to see him so uncomfortable. I felt guilty, like it was my fault for trying to talk to him. But I would’ve felt rude if I’d just talked at him and not asked any questions. I wasn’t sure what I could do to avoid hurting him, and that felt bad.”
Jack’s stomach lurched. This was what Simon had been trying to tell him and he hadn’t understood. He hadn’t understood even though he’d been with him the whole time. Simon was always choosing between hurting himself or feeling like he was hurting someone else. And if they were together, that someone else would often be Jack.
Puddles whimpered from the other room and Jack pushed himself to his feet, only wincing slightly at the weakness and ache in his leg. In the living room, Puddles had wedged himself against the couch and was glaring at the fire. A log had cracked at the bark line and left a jagged, burned out section that looked like a lightning bolt.
“It’s okay, baby,” Jack told him. He slid the poker into the fire and crushed the chunk to glowing coals. Puddles pressed against his leg and licked his hand.
Charlie sat on the couch while Jack stoked the fire and gave Puddles a rub.
“I hope you don’t give up,” Charlie said after minutes of silence.
“On Simon? I won’t,” Jack said, a bit hurt that Charlie’d drawn that conclusion from their conversation.
The mildness of Charlie’s voice didn’t mitigate the sting when he said, “Don’t let Simon shut you down without a fight. Not if you want him in your life. Not if you’re willing to work to make a life together. He’s good for you. I hope you fight to be good for him.”
Charlie plucked Pickles off his leg and set her down on the couch, then crossed to stand in front of Jack. The hand on Jack’s shoulder was as familiar as his brother’s intense gaze.
“Fighting sometimes means working your ass off to understand,” he said. “Simon’s been honest with you. Have you done the same?”
Jack blinked. Charlie wasn’t usually so given to speech-making and wisdom-dropping and something told Jack he should appreciate it while he had it.
“No,” he said.
“Then that’s where you start. Figure out what the truth is, then you can bring it to Simon and see where you are.”
Jack looked down and nodded.
“Thanks.”
He let his head tip forward just enough to feel Charlie’s shoulder brush his hair. Charlie squeezed him almost painfully tight and ruffled his hair.
“I like him,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Yeah, I like him too.”
Chapter Seventeen
Simon
If you had told Simon Burke when he woke up this morning that he’d end the day with his heart broken, he wouldn’t have been terribly surprised. After all, things with Jack had seemed too good to be true every single day they’d spent together—it was about time, right?
What did surprise Simon was his reaction. He could only remember having it once before, when his grandfather died.