His Pucking Stepbrother

OLIVER

I can’t see shit.

My eyes won’t stop stinging, and the blue tie I’ve been trying to knot for the past ten minutes is still crooked around my throat.

Gritting my teeth, I forcefully blink away the moisture and try to fix the tie, but it just won't cooperate…

“Fucking–” I hiss, about to yank the damned thing off my neck when a warm presence slides in behind me.

His solid chest presses against my back as he gently knocks my hand away from my throat. “Hey, let me. I got you.”

Meeting my boyfriend's affectionate gaze through the mirror, I let out a shaky breath and let myself lean back into his chest. “Fine.”

He chuckles, ignoring the bite in my tone, as he began moving his fingers across my throat, deftly fixing the tie.

Finally, he slides his hand down over the soft silk, smoothing it. “There, babe.” he whispers with a tiny smile. “You look really handsome.”

Why did he have to say that?

The tears I've been struggling to hold rush back into my eyes and when I look at him in the mirror again, his face is swimming. “Elliot–”

“So,” he says at the same time, cutting me off. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I start to shake my head because dammit, we've already ‘talked about this’ but a desperation like I've never felt suddenly surges forward from deep within me.

Without thinking, I grab his arm, and choke out. “Eli, I…please don’t go to Europe.”

God, I sound like a fucking clingy girlfriend.

But I feel so alone and miserable, like I'm crumbling from the inside out, and no one is there to catch the pieces.

“Ollie,” he groans, pulling his arm away. “ We already talked about this.”

“I know but–”

He cuts me off by cupping my face, brushing his thumb over the tears. “You know how important this is for me. So just trust me, babe. We’ll make long-distance work ”

Important for him? Just a year ago, Elliot had no real dreams and he only wanted to go to Paris because of me. But the second I changed my plans, he suddenly became the Paris guy.

Bitterness mixed with the helplessness churning inside me and I bit my tongue hard until copper flooded my taste buds. “It’s four years, Eli.”

“And I’ll be back before you can blink. Plus we have breaks in between.” He presses a quick kiss to my mouth, pulling back with a light chuckle. “Come on, we don't want to keep the bride waiting.”

I mumble a disagreement under my breath but he only threads our fingers together, and tugs me out of my room.

Less than an hour later, I am walking my mother down the aisle with her favourite song floating in the air and uncertainty swimming in my guts.

This is not about me, I know this, but just a year ago, Jennifer was literally suicidal.

I gave up my dreams to study in Paris, applying to a college closeby so I could be there if she tried to hurt herself again.

And now she was getting married….To a guy I BARELY knew.

“Fix your face, Oliver.” Elliot whispers into my ears, knocking his knee against mine when I join him in the pew. “Today is your mom's day and even if you don't approve, you can't ruin it for her.”

Damnit. I hate when he does that thing. That thing where he says the absolute truth that I can't dispute.

Pushing out a breath, I force a solemn look on my face, repeating my mantra over and over in my head.

–If mom says she's happy, then it's worth it.

People sniffle around me, even the ones trying to be discreet, as Mom reads her vows.

She talks about second chances, healing and finding light in dark places.

When she mentions how I’ve been her ‘rock’ when her life fell apart, I feel my eyes burn, memories of that dark time flooding my brain.

God, if someone had told me all those months ago, we'll be here now, I would have laughed in their faces.

But despite the odd circumstances, I can't deny that my mom has really improved.

She looks like a vision on that altar, and her lavender bridal dress is perfect.

Finally, she’s done with her vows, and her husband reads his.

It’s pretty good, but clearly not as heart wrenching or beautiful as mom’s.

As the officiant continues with the ceremony, a weird ball of anxiety settles deep in my belly.

I try to chalk it up to my hesitance about this whole wedding, but the feeling refuses to go, coiling tighter and tighter.

It's like I can’t brush the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong.

Still, I ignore the knots in my guts and walk up to the platform where I hold out the small felt pillow so they can exchange rings.

‘Thank you,’ my mom mouths at me, her own tears gleaming in her eyes.

After I return to my seat in the front row, the officiant clears his throat and says out loud. “If anyone here objects to this union, speak now or for–”

The church doors are suddenly slammed open, letting in a burst of sunlight from outside.

“I fucking object.”