Page 23 of Jealous Guy

My face was hidden from view because of the way he was holding me, and I was grateful for it because when he called me his brother, my entire body reacted. Everything, and I really do mean everything, I’d been hiding from came roaring to the surface. It rushed up, exploded, and changed from a murky suspicion to a crystal-clear knowing in under a second. Every confusing feeling I’d had about Jordan up to that point solidified and took shape. The big thing that made me want to be invisible and not let anyone get close to me burst to life.

It was born right there on a quiet street, on a normal afternoon in Cape Elizabeth.

It was a real, living thing, and for the first time, it had a name.

I knew who I was. I knew who Jordan was to me too.

And he wasn’t someone I loved as a brother.

9

Jordan

Orion Brent is a sickness denier.

It’s a real thing, though it’s a condition that’s never made total sense to me. While most people obviously don’t enjoy being sick, the majority of us don’t mind the extra attention it gets us. Most of us like it when others are concerned about us, or try to take care of us. Not Orion.

His mom once told me that when he was five, he had a really sore throat. He completely denied there was anything wrong with him, wouldn’t take meds, and got angry when she asked him if he was feeling sick. It got so bad that, eventually, he couldn’t eat or drink anything because it hurt so much to swallow.

After a pretty spectacular showdown, she wrangled him to the pediatrician.

The doctor looked at his throat and immediately said, “Tonsillitis.”

Apparently, Orion hadn’t uttered a word for days by then because his throat was so raw, and he had no idea what tonsillitis was, but the finer details didn’t matter. To him, what the doctor said was an insult. An accusation.

“I’m not sick,” he rasped hoarsely.

Mrs. Brent said the doctor gave her a grave look and said, “Ah, a sickness denier.”

So, despite how unlikely it seems, being a sickness denier is a real thing, and Orion has been formally diagnosed with the condition.

He’s currently swanning around the apartment, trying to pretend there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s walking carefully, though, minding how his heels and toes hit the floor in a way that makes me think he has a headache and he’s trying not to jostle his brain any more than he has to. I suspected he had a headache yesterday too, but of course, he denied it.

“Cereal?” I offer.

“Thanks,” he grunts, taking a seat on one of the kitchen stools.

I get a bowl out of the overhead cupboard and pour an excessive amount of milk into it. I pause for a second to see if he’ll take the bait, but he doesn’t, so I pour some cereal into the milk and place the bowl in front of him on the counter. I wordlessly hand him a spoon. He takes it from me and has a bite of cereal without saying anything about the fact that I put the milk in first.

Yep. The man is feeling like shit.

He chews the mouthful a little longer than he needs to and pauses almost imperceptibly before swallowing. He flashes me a brilliant smile to throw me off the scent. As if I’d fall for that.

He has a few more bites, chewing and swallowing gingerly, not even looking offended about the amount of milk in his bowl.

I watch and wait until he puts the spoon down, then I spring into action. I know him well enough to know a stealth attack is the only way to handle things. I grab him from behind and pull him backward just enough to throw him off balance. His arms fly out to steady himself, but I quickly pin them down. It’s a bit of a challenge to subdue him and keep him from falling off the stool at the same time, but he’s definitely not at full strength because it’s easier than it should be.

Once I have him secured, I hold him in place with one arm and forcibly clamp my free hand onto his forehead.

I know all this might seem extreme to people who don’t know him, but, like, Orion needs this. You’ll have to take my word on that. He can’t be rational when he’s sick, but it’s fine because he has me to be rational for him.

He struggles furiously, yelling obscenities at me, and I lose contact with his forehead a couple of times, but with some effort, I wrestle control back and manage to get my hand on him properly.

Mm, damn.

I’ve hit a slight snag.

I’m not a hundred percent sure how to tell if he has a fever. I’ve seen moms doing this to their kids a lot, but I never really thought about how they actually know if their kid’s temperature is higher than it should be once they’ve done it.