Jack Bech walked across the NFL Draft stage in Detroit with a heavy heart and a full soul. For the former LSU and TCU wide receiver, this moment was supposed to be shared. Cameras captured the smile, the handshake, the crisp suit and the flashing lights, but what they didn’t see was the deep, invisible presence beside him—his late brother, who was tragically killed in a terrorist attack in New Orleans just over a year ago.
“I just wish he was here,” Bech said, his voice breaking in a moment of raw vulnerability. “He would’ve been the first one to hug me.”
Jack Bech’s journey to the NFL was already remarkable—a former three-star recruit from Lafayette, Louisiana, who rose through the ranks at LSU before transferring to TCU and becoming a dependable weapon in the Horned Frogs’ offense. But what defined his path more than any stat or combine metric was resilience. That resilience was forged in tragedy, when his older brother—his hero, his best friend—was killed in a senseless act of violence that shook the Bech family and their community to its core.
The attack in New Orleans was unexpected, devastating, and, for Jack, a wound that time has yet to fully heal. It was supposed to be a routine night—his brother had been attending a public gathering in the French Quarter when terrorists opened fire. The chaos lasted only a few minutes, but in that time, lives were lost, including the one Jack looked up to most.
“I remember getting the call,” Bech recalled. “My mom was screaming. I was numb. I couldn’t move. I just sat on the floor and cried.”
The weeks that followed were a blur. Jack left the team briefly to be with family, attend the funeral, and simply grieve. What hurt most wasn’t just the loss—it was the loss of shared dreams. His brother had always been his biggest supporter, from backyard catches as kids to late-night phone calls after games. He was the one who never missed a snap, who wore Jack’s jersey to every college game, who said, “You’re going to the league,” before anyone else believed it.
When Jack returned to TCU, he was different. The swagger was there, but it was quieter. The smile still came, but often with a shadow behind it. He played the 2024 season with a renewed sense of purpose, dedicating every rep, every route, every touchdown to his brother’s memory. And while the Horned Frogs didn’t make a national title run, Jack’s performance stood out. He finished the season with 58 receptions, 742 yards, and 6 touchdowns—solid numbers, but they only told part of the story.
What NFL scouts began to recognize was his toughness, his work ethic, his character. “He’s a guy who’s been through hell and kept showing up,” one NFC scout said. “You can win with guys like Jack Bech in your locker room.”
As draft night approached, Jack was flooded with memories. His brother had always said he’d be there in the green room, probably crying louder than their mom. Jack thought about how they used to reenact draft moments in their living room, pretending to get the call, pretending to hug Roger Goodell, pretending to be stars.
Now, it was real. But the person he wanted most to share it with was gone.
“I wrote him a letter before the draft,” Jack revealed. “I told him I miss him. I told him I’m still playing for him.”
The letter, scribbled on hotel stationary the night before the first round, was folded and placed in Jack’s inside jacket pocket. He wore it as he walked into the draft theater. He touched it before every interview. And when his phone finally rang on Day 3—with a team offering him the shot he’d been waiting for—Jack closed his eyes and whispered his brother’s name.
The team that called was the New Orleans Saints.
It felt surreal.
It felt divine.
To be drafted by the very city that had taken his brother was a twist of fate Jack never expected. But instead of bitterness, he saw beauty.
“This is bigger than football,” Jack said. “This is redemption. This is peace.”
The Saints’ brass had done their homework—not just on Jack’s game, but on Jack the person. They’d heard about his leadership, his strength through grief, and the quiet visits he still makes to the site of the attack whenever he’s home. They believed in his talent, yes, but also in his heart.
And Jack is ready to give it all.
“I’m going to wear that jersey with pride,” he said. “Not just for me, not just for my family, but for my brother and for every person who’s been through loss and still stood tall.”
In the days following the draft, messages poured in from fans, friends, and strangers who had followed his story. Some had experienced their own tragedies. Others were simply inspired by Jack’s strength. The wide receiver who once went viral for his one-handed catches at LSU was now going viral for something far more powerful—his vulnerability.
Jack’s mother, Angela, said the family is overwhelmed by the support but not surprised. “Jack’s always been special,” she said. “Even when he was hurting, he never stopped loving. And that’s what his brother would’ve wanted.”
Bech has already reported for rookie minicamp in New Orleans. He’s wearing number 87, the same number his brother wore in high school. On the inside of his cleats, he’s written the initials “L.B.” for his brother’s name. On his wrist, he wears a bracelet that reads, “For My Brother.”
Every catch, every block, every yard—Jack plans to make them count.
But beyond football, Jack Bech’s story is a reminder of the power of perseverance. He’s not just chasing a dream. He’s honoring a legacy.
“I know people say you’re not supposed to let the pain define you,” Jack said. “But I think you can let it refine you.”
In a league that often focuses on size, speed, and statistics, Jack Bech brings something different—something intangible. Heart. Depth. Perspective. He knows what it means to lose, which makes him even more determined to win.
His road to the NFL wasn’t smooth. It was marked by heartbreak and hardship. But it was also marked by love—the kind of love that doesn’t die, even when the person you love is no longer here.
Jack Bech may be one of the final picks in the 2025 NFL Draft, but his story is one of the most powerful.
And as he laces up his cleats, puts on the Saints helmet, and steps onto an NFL field for the first time, he’ll carry more than just a football.
He’ll carry his brother with him.
Always.