Page 5 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

There was nothing like the heat rowing provided.

Idly, sometimes Jesse wondered if the love for heat was in his bones, passed down from his ancestors in Colombia. If he closed his eyes, the flecks of water flipping off his teammate’s oar at his front, mingling with the sweat dripping down his chest, could be mistaken for the precipitation of the rainforest.

When he visited his cousins back in South America, he marveled at how the humidity differed from the humidity of the city. In Colombia, it was sticky and sweet, the taste of raw sugar cane—but not in Chicago. In the city, the humidity choked you; it made you feel like you were drowning.

He felt that way now. Even in mid-April, something about the London air was stifling. Jesse did his best to push the feeling down and channel all of his energy into the first mile of the race. The river was at its deepest before the Hammersmith Bridge, and it was also the straightest part of the course. The quicker they moved here, the better the position they’d be in for the second mile of the race.

When they approached the curve of the Surry Bend, it finally dawned on Jesse that it was nearly over. There were only two miles left. This was the last year he would participate in the Boat Race, most likely the last time he’d ever competitively race. He was good, but he wasn’t as talented as Sean. He wouldn’t be heading to the Olympics any time soon.

Now that his time at university was coming to an end, he was terrified. The only passion he had found was this sport, and in ten short minutes, it’d all be over. In a few months, he’d be moving to the city to work a passionless job at his family’s company. There would be no more early morning training sessions with Sean, or celebratory dinners with the team. He was trading days spent entirely outside for ones inside corporate, grey walls. This part of his life was coming to a close, and he was anxiously awaiting what came next.

Cambridge had lost the coin toss to determine their starting position, so they were on the outer side going around the bend. It gave Oxford an advantage to catch up on the slight ground Cambridge had gained on the straight. Jesse shortened up his stride to match pace with the six seat to allow the boat to veer to the left, listening intently to Alex as he navigated the course.

The burn that Jesse loved in his arms and legs had taken residence in his lungs. Every breath stung, oxygen turning into icy shards with each inhale. Ordinarily, Jesse was able to tune out everything around him when he rowed. Static would fill his ears, and invisible blinders would block his peripherals keeping him from paying too much attention to his opponents. But today, the crowd was impossibly loud as they passed the Chiswick Pier and approached the Barnes Bridge. The only thing louder than his surroundings were his own breathing and his heartbeat, hammering against his eardrums.

Legend said whichever team was ahead at Barnes would take the win, and the race was in a dead heat. Oxford was slightly ahead coming up on the bridge, and with Sean at his front yelling at their crew to pick up the pace, he dug deep and channeled everything he had into his form.

Each team battled to hold their lines as they crossed under the center arch of the bridge, and there was a warning for Oxford for getting too close to their lane. The men were exhausted, and it was a struggle not to get sloppy heading into the final quarter of the race.

“Dig deep, boys! Power twenty! Let’s fucking go!” Alex was beginning to lose his composure, and Jesse knew this was their chance. In twenty strokes, they were either going to pull ahead or accept defeat for the first time in five years. He summoned the last bit of his strength and pushed harder than ever, giving this race, his last ever fucking race, his entire attention.

Alex was nearly out of his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs. Jesse knew if he could see Sean’s face, he’d be grinning through the pain at their small but ferocious cruise director. The two had built an unwavering camaraderie and trust, and it gave the entire team complete confidence in their leaders.

In the end, it was the abrupt shade of the Chiswick Bridge and Sean’s triumphant scream that signaled to Jesse the race was over. He watched Alex stand, precariously rocking the boat in the process, and fall into the open arms of their President. Jesse let go of the oar and collapsed backward, not a care in the world that he was well in McDavis’s personal space. He ripped his sunglasses off his face and tossed them to the bottom of the boat at his feet. The combination of sweat and tears made Jesse’s eyes burn as he pressed his palms into the sockets, but even so, he laughed between gasping breaths.

They had done it again.

Once they arrived back to shore, the men hopped out of the boat to a roar of cheers. Sean quickly waded in shin-high water over to him and threw his arms around his neck, holding him tight. Jesse reciprocated tenfold, yelling above all the noise, “We did it!”

Out of the water, their coach was congratulating all of the rowers, clapping them on their backs and thanking them for a great race. Sean and Jesse stumbled their way to the rest of the team, and Jesse hurried to pull Alex in for a hug as Sean talked to the coach.

He overheard their coach mention something about an interview to Sean, but before his friend was ushered in front of the cameras, he grabbed his arm. “Where are we meeting the girls?”

“They’ll meet us at the awards podium! We’ll meet them there, have one drink with the lads, and then we’ll figure out what to do about Oliver, I promise!”

Jesse gave his friend a tight-lipped smile. Sean’s overwhelming faith that the universe would come through for him was admirable, if not naïve. With the sun shining, another win for Cambridge recorded in the history books, maybe, just maybe, the universe would be on his side.

Chapter 3

Oliver

Two Years Ago

Oliver stared at his watch and sighed, mentally calculating the time until the last train. He was beyond overwhelmed from the day’s activities, and he was ready to go home. Regrettably for him, it wasn’t late and they had plenty of time to grab a drink before the last train to Oxford. He looked up from his watch to the expectant gazes of his friends, and held up his pointer finger. “One drink. One.”

Rachel squealed and looped her arm through his as they shuffled slowly through the crowded streets. All around, Oxford fans were despondent, licking their wounds for yet another year as Cambridge continued their crusade.

“My intel says that this is the place to be, after the awards ceremony. It’s apparently a favorite of the Cambridge rowers. He said there’s some unspoken agreement that there won’t be any overlap with the Oxford squad.”

Oliver’s brain turned over Rachel’s words at an alarmingly slow pace.

Favorite of the Cambridge rowers. Favorite of the Cambridge Rowers.

“Rach, what did you say? Where are we going?” Oliver asked.

Oliver watched as the twins exchanged guilty glances, and he abruptly turned on his heel to go back in the opposite direction. In no universe was he willingly going into that pub if Jesse was going to be there.

But in this universe, he was outnumbered, and next it was Isaac who took his arm. Traitor. “Oh no, you don’t.”