Page 48 of Wicked Titan

“So, you’ve known Nathan for a long time then.”

“Since he was a baby.” Her expression is sincere, motherly even. “And now he’s grown into a great man with babies of his own.”

“Did you know Candace when she was younger too?”

“Yes. All the kids tended to gather at the Bennett house, and your mom was around a great deal.”

Candace graduated from Edgewood, alongside my dad. They were high school sweethearts. At least, that’s what I was told.

Attempting to joke so I don’t raise questions of prying—again—I ask, “I bet you got tired tending to all of them.”

“Oh, no. I enjoyed them being around. And as long as they were there, I knew they were safe and not out causing trouble,” she laughs.

From what I know of Nathan, he seems like he would have been a handful growing up, to say the least. The complete opposite is true of my dad who seemed to be a rule follower, but maybe there was another side of him I didn’t know.

“What about my dad? Did he hang out there?”

She hesitates for a moment before responding, “Yes. Stanley would join them often too.”

“I didn’t know that.” I blurt out the words before thinking. Nathan and my dad knew each other, but I can’t wrap my head around all of them hanging out together as teenagers.

“They were all remarkably close until graduation. Then they all just went their separate ways.”

Went separate ways after graduation? They lived three hours apart and attended different schools. “How did they all meet each other?”

She gives me a curious look before continuing her task of potato peeling. “They all knew each other from school.”

“How? Sports or something? I didn’t think Olympus and Edgewood ever competed in anything.”

Francis sets down the utensil as she looks over at me. “They attended the same school.”

“What?”

“Quinn, they all graduated from Golden Olympus Academy together.” She pauses, noticing what I’m sure is an astonished look on my face. She probably realizes this is all news to me. “Your parents didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head.

No. They’d never told me, and I can’t help but be irritated and almost embarrassed by the fact that I know less about my parents than Francis does. I’ll just add it to the list of things I’ve never been informed of.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I thought you knew already.”

Nope. That’s a major news flash to me. My mom hadn’t been around to tell me about anything, and my dad never talked much about his high school years, but I’m almost certain he’d said he graduated from Edgewood High. Or maybe he’d just let me think that.

I’d figured it was too painful for him to talk about those years because of Candace, the person who’d (supposedly—because what the hell did I know about anything) been his high school sweetheart, so I’d never asked questions. Apparently, she’d been his girlfriend but just at a different high school. Stupid me for not asking questions to spare his feelings as his lies are tap dancing on mine now.

This just reinforces that there is a lot more surrounding my dad’s accident than I’m being told. Not that I was told much about anything my entire life. Candace, I understand her lies, almost welcome them because I don’t expect anything more from her. But Dad, I want him to be the person I thought I knew better than anyone. I don’t want to think bad of him, but how the fuck can I not? The more I learn, the more I find out he was lying, so I guess it’s time to start really snooping again. And it’s best if no one is aware of it this go-round.

“It’s all right. Did you need some help?”

She’s already lectured me about not having to help her cook, but every so often, she gives in and lets me help. Thankfully, this is one of those times.

40

I wanted to believe Victoria was exaggerating about the librarian feeding crickets to her pet snake at lunchtime every day, but she wasn’t. This is the second time I’ve witnessed it firsthand. And not only does the librarian feed the snake crickets, she baby talks to it the entire time she’s dropping crickets into the aquarium one by one, taking one for herself in between.

I’m really trying not to be obvious, but I’ve never seen someone sit and share a bowl of live crickets with a snake like it was a bowl of popcorn.

Prying my eyes away, I concentrate back on the stack of yearbooks on the table. Flipping through, I search for my dad first. Trailing my finger down the list until I stop when I see Stanley Caine. Looking over to the row of pictures, I spot a teenaged boy that’s a younger version of my dad.