Page 19 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

Jesse dumped a large portion of chips onto a plate, shaking his head in disagreement. “No. Not this again.”

“I think you gave up too easily. I’ve seen you pursue other conquests with much more vigor.” Sean pointed a chip between Tanvi and Michelle. “They agree with me.”

“I never said that,” Michelle rebutted.

“Don’t call people conquests. It makes me feel like a douchebag. And if I’m one, so are you by association,” Jesse quipped.

Tanvi piped up. “I disagree with the language Sean used, but do agree with the sentiment.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure I could write a book about that summer from all the times you’ve told me about it. That’s true love, right there,” Sean said around a mouthful of chips.

He liked to joke around with his friends, but Jesse had never seen Sean date, seriously or casually, nor had he ever shown any sort of interest in anyone. Despite that, he was a hopeless romantic to his core.

“True love doesn’t count when you’re teenagers.” Jesse sighed and closed his eyes, realizing what he had said. He opened them to the girls’ lifted eyebrows. “Not you guys, you guys are different.”

Michelle and Tanvi executed a perfect high-five without looking at each other. “Damn straight,” Michelle said.

“Look, I’m already stressed as fuck about this move and this job. I quite literally punched Roger in the face—”

“He had it coming, honestly,” Sean interjected.

“—and he ran away. Oliver ran away. I’m trying to be less of a douchebag,” Jesse explained. “Stalking him online or whatever is counterproductive to that. Let it go. Please.”

The dejected look Sean gave him was an exact mirror to how Jesse internally felt about the situation. He wanted to stalk him online, he wanted to search Oxford from top to bottom, but he wouldn’t. He’d respect Oliver’s space and privacy.

Jesse was moving to London in the morning to start a brand new chapter of his life. That needed to be his focus.

Chapter 9

Oliver

Two Years Ago

He needed a toothbrush, deodorant, and a suit.

He didn’t have a suit. He didn’t have anything even resembling a suit. He had a blue sports coat that had been shoved in the back of his closet for the past three years. It might as well have been enclosed in a glass box with an accompanying axe that said BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. Very rarely did he have a need to wear it, and truthfully, the fit was questionable at best.

Oliver should have been making the final preparations on his exhibition. The showcase was tomorrow; all of his hard work was finally coming to fruition, the final chapter coming to close on his collegiate career. It should have been a day of family and friends, of joy, of celebrating his biggest life accomplishment to date. It had taken Oliver far too long to even accept that it was an accomplishment, that it was supposed to feel joyful. But he had finally gotten there, to that place where he was proud of everything he had created.

None of that mattered now. Instead of celebrating, he was ripping random clothes out of moving boxes and haphazardly stuffing them into his suitcase, tears blurring his vision.

Rose’s call had ruined everything.

They had made plans. They were supposed to eat at that chip shop he loved. He was supposed to gossip with Rachel about the other artists. He was supposed to tell Oliver that his paintings were the best, that he had out shown all of the other students.

He wasn’t supposed to die. Not yet. Not now.

Oliver slumped to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest, his head thrown back against the foot of his bed. The tears hadn’t slowed since Rose’s call, and were trailing steadily down his cheeks and into his ears. The inside lens of the glasses he only wore at home were dotted with water marks.

He thought he had more time, thought he’d be there for his grandfather’s final days. It should have been his turn to give back to the man who had given him everything.

Oliver’s phone buzzed along the hardwood floors somewhere at the other end of his flat, no doubt Rose calling again. He knew he should answer her, but he couldn’t face her yet. He couldn’t stomach that she was the one who had taken up the mantle and cared for his grandfather when it should have been his responsibility.

His parents hadn’t called. They had only sent a text that said they planned to remain in London until the day of the funeral, and had contacted the estate’s solicitor about the reading of the will. He wanted to lash out, but there was only so much energy in his body, and every molecule was absorbed with grief.

A faint knocking at his front door was followed by the clink of a key being inserted into the lock. Only two people in Oxford had unfettered access to his flat, and knowing they were there unleashed a new wave of sadness and love that tangled in the pit of his stomach.

He tracked the sound of soft yet urgent footsteps through the flat, growing louder and louder as they approached his bedroom.