Chapter Eight

His father.

His father.

His father.

Those were the only words flying through Percy's head, over and over again, like a scratched record. His hands shook where they were clasped in his lap. His eyes fluttered closed as he tried and failed to block out what his mother was saying to him.

"He called a few weeks ago," Sally explained. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, her forehead resting in her hand in a defeated posture. "He wanted to meet you, Percy. That's all."

"At first," Percy muttered, too quiet for his mother to hear.

"He's tired of being cut out. He heard you're into swimming and he wants to take you to the FINA Champions Swim Series in Indianapolis this summer. Apparently, he has some connections and got VIP tickets for you and him, but he has to reserve them now."

"Then my answer is no!" Percy exclaimed, opening his eyes. The lights were too bright, too hot—this was like an interrogation, a cross-examination, and Percy could hardly breathe. "No, because I wasn't the one who cut him out. He left us, Mom. He left you and he left me and ignoring his feeble attempts to 'get to know me' is the least punishment that he deserves."

Sally Jackson closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You have every right to be angry, Percy, but—"

"I don't want to hear it."

Sweat dripped down Percy's back. This was too much. He had to get out.

"Oh, just listen to me, Percy Jackson!" Sally exploded. Percy froze, his heart sliding down through his chest like a waterslide. He stared at her.

His mother rubbed at her temples. "I'm more than aware that he left us, Percy. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But that doesn't mean that it's too late to forgive him, to give him a chance to fix his mistakes. You haven't even seen the man since you were eight. Just give him a chance."

Percy remained completely still, staring at her. So many emotions churned within him that he felt like he was caught in the eye of a hurricane—everything falling apart around him, but he was somehow steady, somehow safe, until one wrong step would send him hurtling towards destruction.

He thought about it. He really did. He imagined what it would be like to meet the man who had left him, who had thought that he wasn't enough, wasn't worthy of staying. Perhaps they would see each other and his father would smile and Percy would find himself smiling and everything would just fall into place like it was meant to be and they would go watch a swim meet and Percy's dad would yell and Percy would laugh at him and then they would go get burgers and shakes after. But there was still that chance that things would go wrong—that Percy's father would see what his son had turned into and would be disappointed, would be ashamed and would leave him again. Because if his father couldn't find reason enough to stay ten years ago, then surely there would be even less reason now.

"He doesn't deserve a second chance," Percy stated softly.

Sally let out a sigh she had been holding and continued rubbing at her temples. "Percy . . ."

But Percy had already turned to exit the kitchen.

"Percy," she said again, more sternly. Her face went red when her son didn't listen. "Percy Titus Jackson, get back here right now!"

Percy froze. His whole being shuddered at that name. The name he'd been born with. The name he could never get away from, as much as he tried. It was on every legal document, every certificate, every birthday card. The name he hated with every fiber of his being because it was his.

"That's not my name," was all Percy said before walking out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

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Percy hated his father for so much more than just leaving them.

Percy had been eight when Titus Hamill left Sally Jackson for a younger woman. The couple had been through a lot before that. It was a fairytale beginning—they had met on Montauk Beach on a sultry summer day, Sally in her polka-dot high-waisted bikini and her big movie-star sunglasses, and Titus in his bright red board shorts. Sally had been dragging her beach chair along in the sand when she tripped and fell right into the arms of the handsome Titus Hamill, who had been eying her all afternoon as the prettiest girl on the beach. He told her as much and she had scoffed, giving him a slap on the shoulder even as she turned red as a cherry, flushed with pleasure. He wasn't too hard on the eyes either, she had thought.

Titus had carried her chair all the way to her car for her, and the two had talked. She invited him to go with her to get some ice cream. He accepted and they had talked some more. And so it was—every day that summer, Titus would get to the beach early in hopes of seeing the beautiful Sally there and Sally went everyday so she could get swept away in the flirtatious and affectionate soul that Titus was. Much talking ensued. And eventually, kissing.

Percy came about a year later. The couple had been going strong, more in love than ever, and Percy was a welcome addition to their happy little household. Though Sally and Titus weren't married, there was an engagement on the horizon. It was all perfect—the amorous couple, the cradle, and a bright and hopeful future.

Until it all came crashing down.

It started about a year after Percy had been born. Fatherhood was too much for Titus, it appeared. He couldn't handle the responsibility, the constant attention that a baby demanded, the money it took to support the baby's needs. He was working crazy hours trying to make ends meet and hardly had time to swim or do other things that he loved. Sally and he also hardly had any time to themselves and their relationship began to suffer for it.

That was the thing about relationships. They were like plants; they needed nourishment, a bit of water and sunlight, in order to thrive. When a relationship is ignored, it begins to wither. And that's exactly what happened to Titus and Sally.

They officially broke up when Percy was eighteen months old. Titus would still be in Percy's life, of course, because a child needed his father. But without having to provide for both the baby and Sally and himself, Titus was free once again to do what he wanted. It was freedom he thought he'd never have again.

That wasn't the end of their story, however. They got back together a few years later. Titus' visits to see Percy slowly became longer. They began talking again, long after Percy had gone to sleep. And kissing. And then, all of a sudden, Titus was back in his son's life as a permanent figure, not someone who just came every other week or so with candy and money. He moved back in and went to Percy's swim meets and his school productions and taught him how to throw a baseball and how to tell if a girl likes you and everything a father is supposed to do. Percy had felt loved, had felt secure, had felt safe and it had felt good. Stability was like a drug and for the first few years of Percy's life, he had been high on it. They all had been. It was a fairytale ending deserving of its fairytale beginning.

But it wasn't the end. No, the end was when Titus began to feel trapped again. When he began to come home later and later from work, and then, eventually, not at all. When Sally all of a sudden wasn't enough for him. When having a son went from a blessing to a burden. When the secretary at Titus' work was suddenly more beautiful and fun than Sally.

Titus left when Percy was eight. Percy woke up one morning to find all of his father's things gone, as if they had just vanished in the dead of night. There was no explanation, no goodbye. At least, not to Percy. All he knew was that his father had decided that having a son, having Percy wasn't enough to make him happy anymore. That Percy wasn't worthy of having a father in his life anymore and had chosen to just walk out instead, taking Percy's whole world with him.

But that hadn't been what made Percy hate him. No, Percy could understand him leaving. He couldn't love himself either.

No, what made Percy hate his father was what his departure did to Sally.

Percy had found her sitting in the middle of their apartment, blank-faced and rocking back and forth. She hadn't spoken for a full day after. Percy couldn't remember being more terrified. She refused to eat, refused to drink, refused to even move except to use the restroom. She didn't get out of bed for weeks. Percy had to care for her, had to force her to eat. He remembered sitting on the edge of her bed, in tears and begging her to just take a bite, if not for herself, then for him.

Please, Mama. Please.

He had found her again, about a month after Titus had left, sitting on the floor of their bathroom, a bottle of pills in her hand. Percy had knelt down before her, and her face—it was so different from the mother she had been before everything had happened. He hardly recognized her. But he sat there in front of her, shaking her shoulders, screaming at her to just look at him look at him look at him—

And then, as if snapped out of a trance, she had.

And she had grabbed him, pulled him into a hug, and sobbed into his hair.

Please, Mama. Please.

She had told him later that those words were all she had heard in her depression. Those words were all that she had to pull her out of it.

Percy's father had almost caused his mother to kill herself. He had n her, and for that—for the eight-year-old boy he had been who had had to beg his mother to come back to him—for that, he would never forgive him.

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School the next day was awful, to say the least.

Nothing bad actually happened, but Percy's pissy mood was enough to make it a terrible day. He had walked in late to Mr. Brunner's class, as usual, and had snapped when the teacher got onto him yet again for being tardy. His quick wit had earned him a detention, which was going to make him late to work that afternoon, and Percy just wanted to screw it all. Work, school, functioning as a decent human being—he just wanted to leave everything behind and go live in an isolated cabin in the mountains. Some of the greatest writers created their masterpieces while living alone in the woods. Who knew what he could produce?

Annabeth tried to meet his eye as he went to sit in his seat, but he avoided her gaze. Part of him was still reeling in embarrassment from their encounter at the studio yesterday.

However, it seemed like Annabeth had an agenda and it involved talking to him. She grabbed his wrist once the bell rang before he had a chance to dart away.

"Hey," she said as he turned to look at her. She gave him a meek smile, which floored Percy, despite everything that was going on in his life.

Annabeth was so hot.

"What's up?" Percy asked, trying to be cool and nonchalant.

Annabeth looked at him for a second, biting her lip. Percy couldn't help but staring. "So yesterday's conversation was kinda awkward," she finally said.

Percy snorted.

"I guess I, uh, just wanted to say, um," she squeaked, her words stumbling over each other, "I'm sorry. For, uh, snapping at you. Yesterday."

Well, this was a new development. Was that red creeping across Annabeth's cheeks? It appeared she was the one embarrassed this time. The small victory did wonders for Percy's mood.

Percy gave her a dazzling grin, finding it too easy to slip from emotional Percy to cool, flirty Percy. "No worries," he soothed. "I'm sorry for the stupid comment. I wasn't thinking."

Annabeth smiled and brushed a curl behind her ear.

"Although," Percy drawled on smoothly, leaning a little closer, as if they were sharing a secret, "you did look great in that outfit. You should wear it to school some time."

It had been a risk to say that, he knew. But it paid off as a small smile graced Annabeth's sinful lips, even as she rolled her eyes.

"You're hopeless," she retorted, though her voice was definitely softer than it had been yesterday. Then she sauntered out of the classroom.

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Grover's POV

Grover Underwood had spent his high school years living under the radar and that was exactly how he liked it.

The thing about living under the social radar was that no one noticed you—and you, in turn, could freely notice everyone.

Grover had spent the better part of three years observing his fellow classmates, finding out little secrets that they didn't want known, not to use against them or anything, but just for his own interest. Grover found other people so interesting—the fact that everyone around him had their own life, so intricately involved and designed and so different from his own, well, he found it fascinating.

Which is probably why, when people did notice him, they found him weird.

It didn't matter. Not anymore. Grover had been to hell and back in a social sense; nothing could bother him now. Definitely not a little teasing every now and then. Kept him on his toes.

Grover watched as Percy Jackson sauntered down the hallway, surrounded by his friends, his arm around Drew Tanaka, smiling and laughing and looking for all the world like he owned the place. It didn't hurt to look at Percy; not anymore. It used to. It used to hurt like it would never heal. Percy had been Grover's best friend. For a long time, he had been all Grover had had. His only support system. Until Percy decided that he was better than him. Until he decided to go hang around the very same people that the two of them had made fun of for years.

Grover didn't really mind. He never really minded anything. Ever since his accident, which left him crippled, he never allowed himself to get his hopes up about anything. He never allowed anything to bother him. Everything could be taken away at any time and there was nothing anyone could ever do about it. It hurt less to just never let yourself care about anything.

Sometimes, Grover still felt things. He felt sorry for Percy, who he knew felt too much. Grover had gone through so much with Percy; he had been there when his father left Percy and his mom at eight years old; he had been there when Percy's mom married an abusive man about a year or two later and fell back into a deep depression; he had been there through all of the bullying in middle school, all of the times Percy had gone home crying because he just never felt like he fit in. Grover had been there through all of it, had seen the damage it had on Percy's emotional wellbeing, and knew that not everything had magically fixed itself when Percy suddenly became popular.

A hand tugged on one of the curls poking out from beneath Grover's hat and suddenly, Annabeth was popping in front of him, a bright smile on her face.

"Good morning," she greeted, opening her locker, which conveniently, had been placed right next to his. "How are you feeling today?"

Her eyes flicked to his useless legs, propped up by crutches, and Grover ignored the flicker of pity he saw flash in her eyes. He chose not to feel anything as he responded, "Feeling good. The doctors are optimistic."

Annabeth smiled, a dazzlingly beautiful sight. Annabeth was beautiful, there was no argument. She had been blessed with a handful of perfect features that Grover would never have, and he was okay with that. Annabeth was noticed, everywhere she went. Grover's plain appearance allowed him to sink back into the crowd. "I'm so happy for you, Grover," she said, her voice soft and cheerful.

Grover had recently started working with a new physical therapist, who believed that he could help Grover walk on his own again. Grover personally believed that it was impossible and it was futile to try, but Grover's mother thought differently and was willing to pour money they didn't have into a false hope. Still, Grover loved his mother and didn't want to upset her with his doubts, so he went along with it, performing all the excruciatingly painful exercises and entertaining her hope that one day her son would run again.

Grover glanced at Annabeth, at the flushed cheeks and the shining eyes. "What's got you in such a good mood this morning, Annie?" he questioned.

Annabeth's eyes slashed to his, like a cat caught playing with the mouse, but Grover didn't fail to notice where her eyes had been before.

"Nothing," Annabeth said, her voice an octave higher than normal. "It's just a nice morning."

"Uh huh." Grover was unimpressed. He glanced over to where Annabeth had been looking, his eyes landing on Percy Jackson, down at his locker and surrounded by his posse. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Percy Jackson, would it?"

Annabeth scoffed. "Of course not. You're being ridiculous."

"Right."

"I wasn't looking at him."

"I never said you were."

Annabeth's face fell in defeat. "Whatever. I have to get to class." She slammed her locker shut a bit too loudly, her arms full of her Calc textbook. "I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

Grover gave her a little wave of his fingers, which she rolled her eyes at before walking down the hallway.

Grover's eyes slowly found their way back to the raven-haired guy at the end of the hallway. He watched as Annabeth discretely walked past him and his group of friends, her eyes glancing towards him. From what Grover could tell, Percy met her gaze, his lips tilting up in a smile, before looking back at his friends. As he watched Annabeth walk with a slight skip in her step after that exchange, Grover's stomach sank in dread.

He knew enough from observing Percy that he was close to self-destruction—and Grover hoped for Annabeth's sake that she wasn't anywhere near him when it happened.