Page 10 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

“And what’s that supposed to mean, McDavis?” Oliver’s voice was laced with venom, and in this moment, more than anything, Jesse was annoyed that he had to compete with Roger for Oliver’s attention.

“You’re drunk,” Jesse stated. “I’m giving you one more warning to get out of my fucking face and leave Oliver alone.”

Roger pushed his pointer finger into Jesse’s chest. “Make. Me.”

They were drawing a crowd as patrons gathered around, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. Jesse was done. He wasn’t going to tolerate Roger for another breath. He scanned around the circle of onlookers, checking that no one was too close. He leveled a look to Sean, asking for his friend’s silent approval before he caused a scene.

Dramatically, Sean made a show of turning his back to the entire ordeal, covering his eyes and muttering under his breath that he better not find this online later.

“Fine.”

Jesse’s fist connected with the sharp cut of the other man’s cheekbone, and Jesse winced at the pain that radiated through his hand and up his arm. One swing was all it took to send Roger careening towards the ground, too drunk to do anything to retaliate. Immediately after, a body was knocked into Jesse’s side as onlookers joined in, pushing and shoving at random, taking this opportunity to let out their own pent up aggressions as the fight escalated.

The bar erupted, a cacophony of sound surrounding him as fellow Cambridge rowers and support staff alike tried to break up the fighting before it really got out of hand. Sean was kneeling over Roger, making sure the man was for all intents and purposes okay, and that he didn’t get stepped on in the shuffle. To his right, a bouncer had materialized out of thin air and was rapidly approaching, but he didn’t care about any of that.

Oliver was there, right in front of him, right within his grasp, staring right at him with those big blue eyes. Suddenly, he was transported back in time. When there was a kiss from a boy who was scared and hesitant, and Jesse was the one there to soothe him.

A hand roughly took hold of his upper arm, and he turned to see Sean there, trying to pull him out of the action. By the time Jesse turned back around, he had lost sight of Oliver.

For the second time that day, his eyes scanned frantically over the crowds, looking for Oliver. He pushed his way to the booth where Oliver’s friends had emerged from earlier, but all that sat were three empty pint glasses on the table. The bouncer was heading straight towards him, and he did his best to slip through the masses. He bolted for the door, throwing it open, and stepped out onto the street.

He whipped his head in each direction and saw Oliver and his friends briskly walking towards the nearest Underground entrance. He stared at the back of Oliver’s head and willed him to turn around, to give him something. Anything. He needed to see his face one more time. If this was going to be the last time he saw Oliver again, he wanted one more chance to memorize every detail.

But he never looked back.

Oliver was gone.

Chapter 5

Jesse

Ten Years Ago

Heathrow was bustling with swarms of tourists from all over the world as they got off their plane from Chicago. Jesse hiked his backpack further up his shoulder and hustled after his father, Luis, following the signs to baggage claim. The linoleum floor felt like concrete under his feet, his legs still recovering after being sat stationary for so long. The laces of one of his sneakers had come untied, but there was no good place to stop unless he wanted to risk being trampled on—or worse, be victim of manslaughter by a roller bag.

Finally, after what seemed like a day’s walk, they arrived at baggage claim and Jesse dropped to one knee, his backpack falling from his shoulder with a thud as he tied his shoe. He took longer than necessary, ignoring the annoyed look his father sent him. He didn’t need another lecture about respecting his possessions.

Airports, in Jesse’s opinion, were the best place to people watch. When he used to travel with his mom, they’d make a game of it, spinning tales of the travelers they passed. Across the room, an exasperated airport attendant was dealing with a large family who couldn’t figure out where to find their rental car. Nearby, a small group of women he had recognized from his flight gathered around each other, yapping excitedly about their itinerary.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. The game wasn’t fun anymore.

He wondered if they had looked at him, if they could tell his mom had died? Could they see it written all over his face?

He wanted everyone to know. He wanted everyone to see it, to look at him and see that there was a piece of him missing. At the same time, all he wanted to do was run, and hide, and escape. More than anything, he didn’t want to be at baggage claim at London Heathrow Airport.

Jesse had woken up that morning to the sounds of his father rooting around the closet for his extra-large suitcase. His voice had taken on a strict tone, demanding that he get up and help pack. He explained that there was a work opportunity—when wasn’t there a work opportunity—and that they were going to spend most of the summer in England.

It was raining, Jesse’s sheets were soft, and he had no desire to get out of bed. Nevertheless willingly get inside a metal tube where he’d be held captive alongside his father with no escape for eight hours.

As if he thought it would encourage him to get moving, his father told him he’d be spending some time with his mother’s side of the family while they were in the UK. Petulantly, he thought he’d prefer not to see them again. It had only been a month since his mother’s funeral, and he couldn’t stomach any more of their deepest sympathies.

They were sad, too, he knew that, but they didn’t understand. His mother’s death was a shock, and Jesse was having a hard time coming to terms with the finality of it. The abruptness in which her life ended.

His father, of course, didn’t feel the same. He had already moved on—back at work the day after her funeral.

“You know, if you keep your face that way much longer, it might stick.”

His father’s tone was light, repeating a joke his mom used to make when he was feeling particularly grumpy. She’d run her pointer finger up the bridge of his nose until she got to the space between his eyebrows, and gravely warn him of the dangers of face freezing.