Page 63 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

“So you’ve been sneaking around. Going through my shit. Lying to me? You’ve never lied to me. Not ever. How long have you been plotting behind my back? You don’t get to make decisions about my life, Jesse.”

“You’re going to lose your home.” He didn’t mean to be so brash with Oliver, but he needed him to understand. “Do you think you’re the first?”

“The first what?”

“The first person with this kind of problem? Certainly, you don’t think that. Do you know how many historical estates are owned by The National Trust?”

“I don’t see how that’s related.”

“Hundreds, Oliver. Hundreds. And yours is next, because that’s going to be your only option. No one can afford this place. Not unless you break it up and sell off the land bit by bit, and even after that, you’ll never get what the house is worth. You’re going to have to donate, and you’ll be left with nothing. And at the end of the day, there will still be strangers coming in and out of your home.”

Oliver stood, and Jesse scrambled after him, following him as they both abandoned the blanket and food right there by the bank.

“Don’t follow me. I’m serious, Jesse, leave me alone.”

Jesse grabbed Oliver’s upper arm, forcing him to turn around. He was desperate for Oliver to stay, not to leave their conversation like this. “If you don’t want to do any of this, fine, but let me help you. I have money I inherited when mom died that I’ve never touched. I can at least pay for the roof. We can do this together.”

“Go fuck yourself. I don’t want your charity.”

Oliver looked Jesse directly in the eye when he said it.

Jesse let go of Oliver’s arm, letting him turn and walk away, watching him until he was out of sight.

Chapter 25

Jesse

Present

It hurt to breathe.

An acute pain had settled in Jesse’s sternum. Every inhale was like someone was taking a sharp pin and weaving it in and out of the cartilage around his ribs. There was no relief on the exhale.

It was raining again. Jesse sat on the blanket by the lake, staring over the water, knowing that there were a hundred things he could have done differently. The delivery could have been better, he could have eased Oliver into the idea instead of ambushing him with it, he could have simply done what he was asked. He could have minded his own business and not expressly gone against Oliver’s wishes.

He could have told Oliver that he did it because he loved him, and he didn’t want Oliver to lose the one thing he loved most.

Jesse packed up the blanket and abandoned picnic, then headed back towards the house. Oliver must have taken a similar route because Rose was standing in the kitchen with a sad look on her face as he walked through the door. He placed everything down on the kitchen table, the one from their first date, the one they had sat at as kids when he told Oliver about his mom.

He wanted to crawl under the floorboards.

“Does he want me to go?”

Rose took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Oh, deary. No, he’ll be fine.”

He could taste the disappointment in her tone.

“Sure. Thanks, Rose.”

The walk back to their room—no, Oliver’s room—felt like an expedition. It was a march through somewhere warm and damp, a thick moisture in the air that made it difficult to swallow. It seeped through the floors and out from the walls. And to Jesse’s dismay, that was most likely true.

He stood in front of Oliver’s door, realizing that he had moved most of his things to Oliver’s room. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, just one that happened naturally when two people went to bed and woke up together each day. Jesse hadn’t seen it as a big deal until now—he didn’t technically live at Chapman House. There was a lease waiting for him in London.

But standing outside the door, unwelcome, was something monumental. There was a seismic shift that had taken place right under his feet, and he was only beginning to fully understand the ramifications.

A Phoebe Bridgers’ song drifted under the door’s threshold. Hearing it was equal parts endearing and devastating. Any other situation, and Jesse would have poked fun at him. Joked about him being a tortured artist. He thought of Oliver at fifteen, how upset he must have been when Jesse left the first time. He wouldn’t have had Phoebe then for comfort.

He turned and crossed the hall to the bedroom Rose had put him in when he arrived. He could faintly hear the music; it whispered against his skin in the empty room, and Jesse didn’t feel right being there. He tossed the first shirt, pair of pants, and underwear that he could find into his backpack. He didn’t want Oliver to feel uncomfortable. Not here.