Page 22 of Jealous Guy

His eyes were shinier than usual. There were shadows in them, and the yellow in the center looked like it was alight. “I was scared, but I said it anyway.”

My heart stopped.

He was scared, but he said it anyway.

To me, Jordan was larger than life, but really, he was only a kid at the time. Just a boy who was scared of what people thought of him, like everyone else. He stood up for what he believed was right anyway because he knew his voice mattered. Because he knew how insidious and poisonous the venom of words like Zac’s can be, and he couldn’t let it stand. Because he understood how the world works and knew there are things we can do to make it better.

The wave of affection that flowed through me was bigger than I was. It was bigger than Jordan too. It was a physical thing. A massive, visceral force with strong arms and legs that wrapped all the way around me. It was different from the affection I usually felt for him. It flowed deeper and squeezed tighter. It was different because it wasn’t normal affection. It wasn’t fondness, friendship, or even hero-worship.

It was pride.

True and deep pride. The kind of pride that swells and takes your breath away. The kind of pride that inflates in your chest and makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

I was proud of Jordan. Truly. Deeply. Not only because of what he said to Zac. I was proud of who he was as a person. I was proud of who he was and what he’d done that day, sure, but more than that, I saw a clear outline of the man I knew he’d become, and I was proud of that version too.

He looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t a burned-paper smile, or the kind of smile I hear in his voice before he speaks. It wasn’t a smile that told me anything about who he was. It was a smile that told me who I am to him.

“Wanna know why I did it?” he asked.

“I know why. It’s because of the patriarchy and all that stuff your mom said about silence and sha—”

“Nah, bud,” he said, tilting his head and letting the word roll around the back of his throat. “I’ve known that stuff for a while, but I haven’t had the balls to do something like that before.”

“So why did you do it?”

He pressed his lips together and gave me a small nod. “I did it because you were here, Orion…because I knew you had my back.”

By that time, Jordan had hugged me lots of times. He would often put his arm around me when we walked places together. Sometimes I struggled and slapped him away playfully, and sometimes I let him do it, but I’d never initiated physical contact with him.

I did then. I couldn’t help it.

I threw both arms around him before I had time to talk myself out of it or think it through. I held him as tightly as I could. “I’m proud of you, Jordy.”

He didn’t miss it. Jordan doesn’t miss things like that. Never has, never will. “Jordy, huh?”

I released him and gave him a little shove. “Shut up. It doesn’t mean anything.”

All signs of smiles and unseriousness evaporated and his eyes became a little damp at the corners. “It does to me.”

I snorted and exhaled heavily, but I didn’t correct him because he was right. It did mean something. It meant the same thing to me as it did to him.

It was the moment, the exact second in time, when Jordan stopped being a friend I was fond of and became a friend for life.

It was a big deal, a beautiful moment, but it was overshadowed by what happened a few minutes later.

We left the burger place and started strolling down the street, walking side-by-side. “Can I tell you something, O?” Jordan asked.

“Sure.”

“You know I love my sisters, right?”

“Yep.”

“’Cause I do. I really do. I’m super lucky to have them, and I know that, but…I’ve always wanted a brother. When I was little, I used to beg my mom and dad for one all the time. I did it for years. Seriously, I didn’t stop asking for a brother until a few years ago when it occurred to me that I was basically asking my parents to have sex, and it hit me how gross that was.” He shuddered exaggeratedly, shaking the image off. “I still had this feeling though”—he rubbed his chest with one hand, as if there was an ache—“this little, I don’t know, this little longing for a brother, but I don’t feel like that anymore.”

“How come?”

He slung an arm over my shoulder and curled it tight, getting me into one of his chokeholds. “’Cause”—he tousled my hair with his free hand, forcing me to double over as I tried to fight him off—“you’re the brother I’ve always wanted.”