that summer |percabeth au| ✔︎

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Don't Quit

By the time I'd awoken from my nap and made it to the marina, it was late afternoon, and the ocean was chilly and anxious.

Candy was taking care of things at Amatheia Tears, and Katie had gone to the library with Artemis, so I was alone on the far edge of the docks when I heard a sound that made my heart soar.

The Queen of was running.

Not coughing and sputtering, but clean and clear and ready to work. I shot down to the last slip, eager to see Percy, the look of triumph on his face. But as I approached the Vega, another sound cut the air.

Mr. Jackson's voice, severe and edged with frustration.

I froze.

"The only reason I'm letting this nonsense go on," he said, "is that I can't stomach the idea of handing that smug son of a b*tch what he wants. Not without a fight."

"You should really get some therapy," Percy said. I pictured the tightness in his jaw, the spark of rage likely glinting in his eyes.

"Whoever left you that money had no right to get involved. This is between the Jacksons and the Stolls."

"You left this Jackson high and dry," Percy said. "And now you're telling me—what exactly? That I can't race, because Jacksons don't take bailouts?" Percy's laugh was hollow. "Or is it that I must race, but only because Jacksons don't go down without a fight? Forgive me if I'm a little confused."

"You do what you have to do, son. But I do not want you ­encouraging James's little mermaid fantasies. I think we've let that go on long enough."

"Jesus, Pops," Percy said. "He's just a kid."

I didn't hear Mr. Jackson's response, but the boat bobbed in the water, and he climbed through the companionway, out onto the deck. Percy followed, arms laden with coiled ropes.

I knew they'd spot me any minute. I shrunk, closing up like a sea anemone.

"Afternoon, Annabeth." As he hopped off the boat, Mr. Jackson smiled his usual greeting, carefully neutral. A cold flash in his eyes was the only indication that he'd realized I'd heard the argument. "Looks like a storm's heading in. Be careful today."

He nodded once and walked on.

On the deck, Percy's face crumpled, but the vulnerability was immediately replaced with anger.

I knew that face, that transition. Anger was easier to hold, to focus on, than grief. Anger was sharp edged and clear. Grief was messy, blurry.

But in the end both left you hollowed out inside.

Percy dropped the ropes. "I keep taking it, taking it, taking it. For what?" He looked at me for an answer, but all I could offer was an ear. He shook his head and said, "I can't figure out what he wants. To sell the house? To stick it to Lucius? To keep the house, win the Never Flounder? Set me up to fail? Set me up to prove him wrong, some sick game to make him remember that he has a son he can be proud of? And James—God, it's like he hates the kid as much as he hates me."

I wanted to tell him how wrong he was, that his father loved them. That maybe he just didn't know how to show it, or maybe he was trying to protect them from life's disappointments the way my father always had; overprotectiveness often stemmed from good intentions. But even as all those words floated through my mind, I knew they weren't true. Percy's father had a deep, mysterious resentment for his boys.

I'm sorry, I mouthed. And I was.

Not just for Percy and the way his father treated him. But for me, too. For all of us. Sorry for all the little ways that the people who were supposed to love us most could hurt us so deeply, despite their shared heritage and blood, as though their knowledge of our pasts gave them unlimited access to all the most tender places, the old wounds that could be so easily reopened with no more than a glance, a comment, a passing reminder of all the ways in which we'd failed to live up to their expectations.