Page 7 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

Rachel’s retort was quick. “There you go, deflecting again.”

“I’m an Englishman, Rach, we don’t discuss our feelings. We suppress them forever until we die. You should know this by now.”

She took a small sip from her pint. “Whether I know something or whether I accept something, are two entirely different things.”

“Are you studying business or psychology?” he quipped.

They stared at each other without saying a word, Rachel’s irritation building across the table until Isaac came back. He pushed another pint towards Oliver. “The next round is on you.”

“Really, I don’t know what you want me to say about it. It’s nothing.”

Rachel grabbed his hand before he could pick up his pint again. “You can tell us that all you want, but that’s not what we saw written all over your face this afternoon. He was obviously important to you. I’ve never seen you look at someone like that, Olive.”

Oliver’s barriers quickly crumbled, the words spilling out of him in a rush. “I thought I loved him, that’s all. I was a kid. It wasn’t love, it was an infatuation with the first boy who wasn’t embarrassed to be with me.”

Another lie.

Identical frowns pulled on the faces of his friends who both looked ready to protest. Oliver squirmed, hating the attention. “Let’s talk about something else. Rach, I really do want to hear about the flat.”

As the night continued, Oliver finally felt himself beginning to relax, sitting in that sweet spot just past tipsy. Isaac had stopped drinking, and they had decided to buy train tickets that left in the next hour back to Oxford.

While he drank his beer, he toyed with the ends of his hair as the twins argued about the Paris fashion week that had taken place a month prior. “In a time where fashion is more conscientious than ever, even the perception of wearing fur, whether or not it’s fake, is enough to get a lesser person cancelled. It’s bad business,” Rachel explained.

“Yes, yes, I understand your point, Miss Holier than Thou, but at the end of the day, there was no murder, and it’s pretty.”

More often than not, Oliver was an enthusiastic participant in their squabbles. He didn’t have any siblings, and he liked cosplaying as the third Johnson child. And even if Oliver lacked any real sense of style, opting for cheap jeans and trainers he didn’t mind getting paint on, they frequently asked his opinion on fabrics and what colors harmonized well together.

Tonight, he wasn’t paying enough attention to their banter. Instead, he was lost in this strange haze of alcohol, relief, and disappointment. Rachel’s intel seemed to be lacking, and the Cambridge rowers hadn’t shown. There was only another hour until they’d have to leave, and the universe had officially signaled to him that a reunion wasn’t happening. In that moment, he vowed to himself that it would be the last hour he spent thinking about Jesse Alvarez.

He hadn’t known what he would have done if Jesse had shown up. He’d probably try to speak to him, trip over his words, and make an absolute fool of himself. The Cambridge rowers would all watch and snigger in response. His friends would disown him from sheer embarrassment. The world would implode. Those were all reasonable outcomes.

He scooted out from the booth. “I’m going to the loo. One more round before we depart?”

Rachel and Isaac both quickly nodded to him without breaking their conversation, and Oliver got up and walked the short distance to the bathrooms. After finishing his business, he washed his hands and stared at his reflection.

Pushing his hair back from his face, he noticed a tiny speck of red paint on the left side of his forehead. Rolling his eyes, he scratched it away with his index finger and wondered how neither of his friends had noticed it sooner.

“It could be worse,” he said to his reflection.

Oliver knew he was no longer that too tall, nerdy art kid with glasses, but sometimes when he looked in the mirror, he expected to see that boy looking back at him.

The volume of the pub was significantly louder as Oliver walked from the loo to the bar to order another round of drinks. He caught the bartender’s eye, and while he waited for her to finish with another customer, the whole pub burst into cheers and applause.

Tiny black dots suddenly filled his vision. He had just made peace with the fact that he wouldn’t see Jesse, that he wouldn’t have to confront all these feelings he’d been unknowingly holding onto for years.

“What can I get you?” The bartender who had been serving them that night was hovering in front of him, and Oliver had suddenly forgotten how to order a drink. His eyes darted over to Isaac and Rachel who were not at all being subtle, half falling out of the booth to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

“Y’alright, love?”

He returned his attention to the bartender. “My apologies. Two more, thanks.”

Through a gap in the bar, he could clearly see the front door of the pub with the group of Cambridge rowers, friends, and what Oliver assumed was support staff, flooding through. And there in the center of it all, was Jesse.

He silently watched as Jesse interacted with the tall redheaded man he had seen earlier, along with two women. The men were clearly friends, if not more, both hanging all over each other with broad smiles that made the corners of their eyes crinkle while the two women looked on with fond expressions.

His feet were glued to the spot, unwilling to move any closer, even if every cell in his body was screaming at him to do something. Two pints were placed at his front and he hurried to close his tab. At least he could hide within the confines of the booth and figure out what he was going to do. Or Isaac would tell him what to do—either option was preferable than standing out in the open.

A hand clapped roughly against his shoulder. “Catesby! Bloody fuck, what are you doing here?”