Page 41 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

“I think there’s a saying about things like that. Right? Something about riding a motorcycle? Or is it a skateboard? Ah, yes, right, a bicycle. It’s like riding a bike.”

Oliver took the vegetables from the butcher block counter and over to the stove, dumping them in the pan that had been heating over the flame. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, but I could be your idiot.”

He turned from the stove to look at Jesse who sat there with an unashamed grin stretched across his face. Suddenly, Oliver felt silly for being worried earlier in the day. He didn’t need to second guess what was happening. Jesse had never lied to him—not once when they had been kids, and not since they had met again. Why he thought his motives would be anything other than honest and intentional was a reflection of his own insecurities, and had nothing to do with Jesse.

Oliver moved away from the stove, letting the vegetables cook, and went back to Jesse who was still sitting on the counter in the center of the kitchen. When Oliver got close enough, Jesse parted his knees in a clear invitation to move closer. Hesitating for only a second, he complied and slotted his waist in between Jesse’s legs.

“So, tell me, who are you without rowing?”

“Hmm…Let me see. I’m pan. Not sure if I’ve mentioned that yet. I am a master at Scrabble. And oh, I’m a proud associate at Emerson Enterprises, don’t you know?” Jesse took Oliver’s hands in his own and rested them on top of his thighs. Oliver could feel the muscle of them through Jesse’s trousers, but wouldn’t let it distract him.

“Ah, the old deflection. You had a lot of success rowing at Cambridge. I’ll admit, I don’t know much about the sport. Could you have continued with it if you wanted?”

“Most of the guys on the crew had other ambitions in addition to the Boat Race. Sean was the only one of us good enough to keep going. It was always going to be a hobby for me. Besides, my future was all set, remember? Don’t want to disappoint dear old Dad.”

Oliver cocked his head in confusion. He’d had many conversations with Luis Alvarez when he was first thinking about contracting Emerson Enterprises, and one thing was certain: Luis was immeasurably proud of his son. He’d gone on and on about how well he’d done at Cambridge, and how he had attended the Boat Race every year to watch Jesse compete. After speaking with Luis, he had assumed they made amends, but that wasn’t the vibe he was getting at all from Jesse.

The rice cooker beeped, and with great sadness, Oliver removed himself from the strong expanse of Jesse’s thighs and finished making dinner. Once he was done, he set the small breakfast table in the kitchen for them to eat. There was, of course, a formal dining room in the house, but Oliver had no inclination to use it.

Between mouthfuls and hums of appreciation, Jesse broke the silence. “This is delicious. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Yeah. I love it.”

Oliver’s stomach sank. His love of cooking was yet another thing that was entangled in grief. Barbed wired and sharp. It was maddening how it would sneak up on him. He had been having a wonderful time with Jesse so far, and he didn’t want to feel like this anymore. He wanted his moods to be predictable and rational. It had been two years. It didn’t make any sense.

His attention strayed as he momentarily retreated back to that familiar place until Jesse’s hand took his own, grounding him back in reality. Oliver’s lips tilted up in a small, sad smile, and he turned his palm up so they could interlock their fingers properly.

“Want to talk about where you went just now?” Jesse asked, his grip briefly tightening then relaxing.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “I’m so mad at him.”

“At Ben?”

The resentment towards his grandfather had been so unfamiliar and uncomfortable at the start, but now it naturally lived within him alongside every other emotion. He didn’t know how to move on from the negativity that had been burrowing and festering for two years.

He was tired of being so fucking angry.

“He was sick, had been sick for a while. I was in school, but I visited. We talked all the time, and he never told me. He never told me he was bypassing my father and handing me the estate. He never told me that there was no money—that things were this bad.” Jesse tightened his grip again, encouraging him to keep going. “And I think I understand why he left me Chapman. My father hates this place...At his funeral, he and my mother were discussing how they had planned to sell.”

Jesse looked taken aback. “What?”

Oliver ruefully laughed. “They were meeting with estate agents the same day. I should have given it back. Let them sell. It’s been nothing but a headache.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

He swallowed. “No, I don’t. Is it allowed?”

“Is what allowed?”

“How angry I feel?”

Jesse brought their intertwined hands to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on the back of Oliver’s hand. “Yes, cariño. It’s allowed.”

The air leaked out of his lungs. A simple statement. A small gift of permission. A tear slipped down his face, and Jesse was quick to wipe it away with his free hand.

“Thank you.”