Fulcrum (Dark Tide Book 4)

by Max Henry

  SEVENTEEN

  Toby

  “I Created A Monster” – Hello Operator

  I haven’t told her a single thing she couldn’t dig up herself with a little time to waste and a whole lot of bandwidth. Maybe she doesn’t know as much about us as she makes out, or perhaps it’s because she hears the stories recounted straight from my mouth. Whatever the reason, the woman hasn’t moved for over an hour. On the other hand, I have made and consumed four coffees, used her bathroom, and then took a break to check my messages. There’s a general catch-up from Cassie and a note to call Rick when I get a moment, but not what I’d hoped for.

  Rey gets his allotted social media time today, which means he can email or message family to let us know how he’s doing in there. I didn’t expect to hear from him after our strained phone call the other day, but at the same time, I had hoped I would. He drives me nuts, and more often than not, all I want to do is smash his head into a wall until he cuts out his shit, but I love him. He’s my little brother: my first and best friend.

  “You still in there?”

  I snap focus back to Jeanie to find her head tilted and a curious lift to her brow. “What were you saying?” My teeth make a sharp indent into the side of my tongue. A little pain to remind me to stay present.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She falters, revealing her bruised ego. “Are you hungry? I could order in some lunch.”

  “No.” Fingers splaying the worn threads on my jeans, I fixate on those fibers. “I’m fine. What will your headline be?” I lift my gaze to catch her reaction.

  She turns her head, long neck framed by her soft waves while she stares out the window. “The rain seems to have lifted.”

  “Strange headline.”

  One shoulder jumps. “I haven’t decided.” Jeanie brings her honey eyes back to mine. “We’ve talked for a while, but I don’t have much of an angle yet.”

  “I thought you were a journalist?”

  “I thought you were full of secrets,” she counters without missing a beat. So, she has been paying attention. “I thought perhaps you needed to warm up to the idea, but I get the impression you never intended to share anything of value with me.”

  I shrug. “Still don’t trust you.”

  “It works two ways, Toby.”

  I snap my gaze back to hers; she doesn’t often say my name.

  “If you want to trust me, then you need to know I can respect the trust given. How can I prove myself if you don’t allow me a chance to demonstrate my integrity?”

  “You had your chance.” My brow dives. “When you thought a petty revenge piece would be a cool idea.”

  “This old chestnut,” she mutters, rising out of the seat.

  “Yeah. This old chestnut.” I lean forward, elbows to knees, and glare at her. “To you, it was some petty power play. But those words you penned are my life. So, fucking sue me if it means a hell of a lot more to me than it does to you.”

  She turns in her position beside the armchair and glowers down at me. “Why are you so worried if hardly anyone will read it?” She revives my earlier quip about who’s more dangerous in this situation. “If you want to get back at me, write a fucking song that the ‘whole world’ will hear.” Jeanie snorts, jaw hard when she looks away. “It might surprise you to know that the entire population of this earth aren’t all your fans. That there are people who don’t know you exist.”

  “It was a figure of speech,” I snap, slumping back against her sofa and folding my arms high. “Lighten up.”

  “Says the guy with a fucking stick up his ass.”

  “I do not have a goddamn stick in my ass.” I sneer. “I don’t like assholes who use me for their benefit, is all.”

  “Oh, like you’ve never used somebody for your benefit,” she scoffs, taking a step toward me to lean down and stress her point. “That’s all you entitled fuckers do, is trample over others to get where you are.”

  Her hair hangs in a waterfall when she leans forward like this. I snatch out a hand and take a fistful, wrapping it around my palm so she can’t escape. “I haven’t stepped on a single fucking person to have what I do. I earned my way there through blood, sweat, and sacrifice.”

  She frowns. “Then tell me about it.” I release her, sliding my hand to her shoulder and giving a gentle push. Jeanie rights herself, blazing eyes on me. “You seem determined to have everybody know that it’s you who holds the band together, but you don’t want to say how.”

  “Because it involves people who haven’t given their approval to tell the story.”

  “And so here we are.” Her hands rest on her hips. “Back at square one.”

  I smirk. “It’s cozy here, don’t you think?”

  “Boring, I would have said.” Jeanie drops into the armchair; legs slung over the arm closest to me. “And still, you warm my cushions like John Lennon having a sit-in.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.” It registers what the hell made our conversation so frustrating—she’d relaxed. I like her fight. I enjoy the way she spars with me, with confidence. She can hold her own, and I respect that.

  The ceasefire ends when her phone echoes from the confines of her bag. Jeanie jolts off the seat and crosses the room to the plain tote, retrieving the device. “Hi.” I twist in my seat to study her as she speaks. “Are you? … I know, but I’m fine. Honest. … Yeah. … Maybe later, though?” She damn near breaks out in a sweat. Whoever is on the other end, she doesn’t want a thing to do with them while I’m here. “What the hell? How long have you known that?” Her panicked gaze flicks to the door. “I’m in my damn pajamas.” Definitely avoiding someone. I twist fully and fold my arms on the back of the sofa, resting my chin on top. “Still, it’s not appropriate for a visitor.”

  There’s a damn knock at the door. I can’t stop the grin that cuts across my lips: this is great. I have no qualms about being seen here because my conscience is clear, but my little vulture dances around, feathers in a flap.

  “You going to let them in?” I taunt. “Or keep lying about what you wear?”

  Her vitriol-laced gaze hits me hard, and she releases a huff before moving for the door. Jeanie runs a hand through her hair, pushing the strands away from her face before she opens the door—a crack. “Hey.”

  “You’re dressed, you liar.”

  I jerk upright at the cadence of a man’s voice. I was down for this when I thought it would be a chick, one of her friends. But a guy? Who the fuck is he?

  “Honestly, can we catch up later? I need to rest.”

  “You just said you were fine.”

  Her lie unravels faster than she can thread it. “Fine, as in not sick. But I’m exhausted.”

  “Have you eaten?” A plastic bag rustles. “You need to get food back in you with gastro.”

  Her feet shuffle, weight shifting from one to the other while she tries in vain to get rid of her visitor. I owe her no favors. “Let them in, Jeanie. Don’t be so rude.”

  Her head whips faster than the kid in the Exorcist, hate-filled glare much the same.

  I shrug. Not my issue.

  “Who’s that?”

  Jeanie struggles against the door, losing the battle against the fucking Adonis on the other side. I’m on my feet before I can goddamn blink, thankful for my intimidating height. Three strides get me to her side, one swift roll of my shoulders gives the width a flex. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Toby,” Jeanie hisses between her teeth.

  “Dude, you just told her to let me in.” The pretty college boy grins, revealing a line of perfect arctic-white teeth. “The name is Charles, but you can call me Chucky like Jeanie does if you like.” He extends a hand.

  I stare at it as though the fucking thing is disease-ridden. For all I know, it could be. Pretty boys like this are always fuck boys, getting their dick wet in places it doesn’t belong. For all I know, he’s already stuck the thing in Jeanie. Not that their sexual relationship is any of my business, but, Jesus, she need
s protecting from douchebags like this.

  “I see I interrupted something.” Charles retracts his unwelcome hand and gives Jeanie a knowing look.

  I itch to wipe it off his face. “What did you bring?” I rip the bag from his hand before he has time to react. Inside, a takeout cup of soup sits nestled amongst several tins of Pringles. “Are you for fucking real?” I shove the gifts at Jeanie. “Soup? You must really want to get laid.”

  He exchanges another look with my vulture, causing her to duck her chin to hide her face before laying his charming smirk on me. “Only by you.”

  Fuck me sideways; the guy is gay.

  “You managed to render him speechless.” Jeanie giggles, shifting toward the small kitchen. “Have you had lunch, Charles?”

  The dark-haired slab of masculinity grins as he passes by, following her. “I’ve eaten. Don’t let it stop you if you want to dive in.”

  Goddamn it. I hate being caught off guard.

  “Noodle Laksa,” Jeanie groans, nose hovering over the open cup. “My favorite.”

  “I’ll leave you two to talk.” I barely register the steps to retrieve my coat, and I don’t catch what Jeanie says as I stride out the door.

  All I know is that I have to get the fuck out of there before the feelings that guy evoked have time to settle. Once those fuckers get in my heart, I’m a dead man walking.

  I came here with a question, wondering why the hell I found the thought of talking with Jeanie so appealing.

  I think I got my answer.

  EIGHTEEN

  Jeanie

  “On Your Own” – No Fit State

  “Gastro?” Charles leans back against my short counter; arms folded high on his chest. It’s the irritating lift of one eyebrow that makes me scowl.

  “As if you would have left me alone if I’d told you the truth.” I let the steaming laksa touch my lip, relishing the creamy flavor; waiting for it to cool down is always the worst part. “You went to Wonton Wonder, didn’t you?”

  He smirks, turning away with a flourish. “And you think I don’t pay attention to your incessant rambling.” He steps through to the living room and makes a direct line for the window. By the tilt of his head, I know the nosy fucker tries to spot Toby on the street.

  “We’re too far back for that.”

  Charles shrugs, facing me once more.

  “How did the cleanout go?” I nurse my laksa between grateful hands, joining him in taking a seat on the still-warm furniture. Yeah, my traitorous gut flips at the memory of Toby’s perfect ass gracing this very cushion mere moments ago.

  “Devon was impossibly hard to get around.” Charles leans back in my armchair; his forearms rested on either side. “I swear he knows we’re up to something. He ate lunch in.”

  I frown. “He what?” The guy never has lunch in the office.

  Charles nods. “I got as far as logging in to your computer but had to kill the screen when he did some fucking weird lap of the desks.”

  “Did you wipe the article, though?” I widen my gaze.

  My workmate tugs his bottom lip between gentle teeth and makes a hiss. “Nope.”

  “Fuck.” I slump into the seat and promptly scald my wrist with a splash of searing hot laksa. “Damn it!” The takeout place makes excellent food, but fuck me, they sure as hell don’t want anyone getting food poisoning; the menu is heated to nuclear levels before they pass it over in disposable containers that barely shield your hands. “Maybe we pull a late one?”

  Charles shrugs, watching while I dab the soup from my pinkened skin. “We could try, but I can almost guarantee he’d stick around if both you and I were in late.”

  “So, then you do it. Alone.” I brave a mouthful to move the soup level from the rim of the cup. “I can keep watch at the burrito place across the road and let you know if he comes back.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” His brow dives. “You sound like an amateur spy. And all over what? Some article?”

  “It’s not just some article.”

  “It won’t win you the Pulitzer,” he counters, sharp as a tack.

  I swallow the pain away and fix him with a heavy glare. “Low, Chucky.”

  He immediately pales. “I didn’t mean that in reference to your dad.” The big guy leans forward, flicking black hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jeanie, but I don’t see how I can pull this off.” He shrugs his broad shoulders and rises from the chair. “Even if I wipe it off the hard drive, the backend of the file would trace it back to work computers if he employed an investigator.”

  I huff, wrinkling my nose a little. “So, you can see how it’s worth Devon paying a tech whizz to strip the data, but you don’t see how it’s worth us protecting the origin of the story.”

  “I guess.” He jams both hands in his pockets and then shrugs. “There’s a key difference between your interest in this and mine.”

  “And that would be?” I test the soup again.

  “That I don’t give a shit what those words do to Toby Thomas or his family, and you do.”

  I pause, mug hovering beneath my lips. I can’t believe he’d be that heartless. I’ve worked with Charles for years, and sure, he’s never shown an interest in the stories we put out; his passion is web design. But to not care that our publication could tear a family to pieces? Ruin a man? Fuck. Neither did I last week.

  “You owe me this favor,” I state.

  “I owe you fuckin’ nothing.” His features harden. “You owe me several grand. I, on the other hand, have never asked for you to bail me out of anything.”

  “Why are you here?” I shrink into myself. “You’ve been to my place all of, what, three times in the years we’ve known each other. Why now?”

  His jaw tics, eyes softening. “I knew you didn’t have gastro. Not when you’ve asked me to strip your computer of a file.” He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. “You need to take a step back for a while, Jeanie. Have a holiday. If you let it, this career will consume you and spit what’s left of you out for the newcomers to trample over on their way to the same fate.” He runs a hand over his hair, reminding me how handsome he is when he doesn’t hide behind that wayward cut. “I worry.”

  “You don’t need to.” I mumble the words behind the safety of the takeout mug. “I know when to stop.”

  “Do you?” When I don’t answer, he sighs, moving past to head for the door. “Unplug for the night, okay? Take some time out to get intimate with yourself and ask why the hell you paid hundreds of dollars for a connection to Dark Tide.”

  “Because it’s my job,” I fire back, rising from the sofa to face him. “That’s what you do to get the scoop.”

  He smirks, gaze cast down on the aged floorboards. “That’s what the dishonest and desperate do.” He lifts his head and what I find in his eyes chills me. “Everyone else just asks.”

  Disappointment. Charles looks at me, much like a parent would after bailing their child from jail. The care remains, but the respect hangs on by a thin thread. He thinks I’m too far gone already—I know it.

  “Thanks for stopping by.” I lift the laksa. “I appreciate you bringing me lunch.”

  He doesn’t answer. Simply huffs and reaches for the handle.

  “I promise it’ll be worth it, Chuck.” I move for the open doorway, eager to redeem myself in his eyes. “I got somewhere with Toby today. I know it.”

  “Of course, you did.” His lips move into a flat-line, eyes unable to share the same stiff smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I stand watch, one shoulder against the doorframe until he’s no longer in sight.

  The whole day seems so surreal. I find myself behind the closed door, soup cradled in my hands while I stare listlessly at my empty apartment. Toby Thomas was here not even an hour ago, and already the memory seems more of a dream than reality.

  I took a gamble with Mole, and it paid off. Perhaps what I did after wasn’t my finest moment, but I don’t regret where I am becau
se of it.

  On intimate terms with one of the most closely guarded men of modern-day rock ’n roll.

  NINETEEN

  Toby

  “MEAT” - MassMatiks

  The sun hangs low in the sky, shrouded by the tall buildings in the metro area. I gaze up at the ochre glow spread across the patchwork of block and glass, wishing I had a camera good enough to catch the way light bends to accent the architecture styles.

  The area was built progressively over several decades. Odd for a city center, but not so unusual when you consider the first mayor to sign-off on the development was sacked for fraud shortly after. Pockets run deep when developers want exclusivity to a hot area, and the bidding war took a turn for the worse when the mayor took his suitors behind closed doors. With a penchant for illicit substances, he lost himself to an addiction that fueled his need for more. More money, more power, more apparent indemnity from the law.

  How do I know all this? The guy was my mother’s great-grandfather.

  Maybe that’s why I grew interested in the region’s history when my peers would talk about the latest Nintendo game? Or perhaps I felt the need to find justification in his actions when Mom first told us kids about him. If I knew the reasoning behind his choices, I could risk-manage my life to avoid making the same mistakes.

  A dominant trait I know I carry over to Rey’s situation. Cassie was right when she touched on his self-management. He should be able to do it now he’s an adult. But I don’t see why the task of tackling his mental health should be left to him alone when he has a perfectly capable family around him, willing to help. We love him, and we care about him.

  But is that the only reason why I’m here now, standing outside Jeanie’s offices before I leave for home? Can I hand-to-heart say this is only about protecting our family?

  I can’t be sure.

  Rush-hour trickles into effect as I open the door to the building, cars jostling for position on the road behind me. I shut the noise of the world out and make my way upstairs, determined to set this guy right. I had to face some hard truths reading that piece by Jeanie, and I don’t want any of my bandmates to have to do the same.