Fulcrum (Dark Tide Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “You’re worried somebody will put out a story about how Toby’s influence led to Rey’s relapse?” I snort a laugh. “You’re the only asshole who thinks that could be true.”

  “If it’s not true, then why does he want it stopped so badly?” Devon tilts his head to one side. “Tell me that, Jeanie.”

  I have nothing for him. Not when the thought has simmered in the back of my mind for the better part of a month. I spin on my heel and storm from his office with a growl, making a beeline for my desk—or what used to be my desk.

  “Jeanie, I—”

  “Don’t fucking talk to me, Chucky.” I lift a hand in his direction. “I’ll get you the last of what I owe you. Don’t worry about it.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” He scoots into my line of sight.

  I snatch up the box and clutch it to my chest, abandoning my now cold coffee where it rests on the desk. “Still don’t want to hear it.”

  I don’t give him a chance to explain, or should I say grovel. If he knew even an inkling about this, he should have spoken up—that’s what friends do. I reach the top of the stairs, well aware most eyes are on me despite the unusual silence. They want a show, then give them one. I spin around and straighten my shoulders, pushing a smile onto my face.

  “Good luck in Detroit, suckers!”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Toby

  “Suffocate” - Cold

  “He went ahead with it.” Rick spins his laptop on the table for me to see the screen.

  I pull a deep breath, the logo at the top of the webpage all I need to see. “I know.”

  “Have you read it? This is bullshit.”

  “You think?” As much as it angers me, the fucker got a few points pretty dead on. Even more so than Jeanie.

  “Are you asking me that seriously?” Rick takes the laptop back and immediately begins to type furiously.

  “Partially.” I lean back in the hotel chair.

  He arrived in my room at the crack of dawn, spewing expletives about Better Beats, his phone plastered to his ear. Bauer Media is in damage control. There’s nothing inherently wrong with a gossip piece—as long as it’s about something benign like how many cigarettes we smoke or some bullshit account from a supposed ex-girlfriend. But when the article details how one key member bullied and dominated a known mentally afflicted one until he crashed hard on tour, then that affects our reputation.

  And reputation is what Wallace makes money on.

  “You don’t push Rey around,” Rick snaps. “You keep him on his fucking feet.” He glares at the screen, fingers flying over the keys.

  “I am bossy.”

  “And he’s selfish. I’m gutless. We all have our faults.”

  I smirk at his self-assessment. He’s much better to be around since he learned how to take the Mickey out of himself.

  “So, I’m detailing action to Leonard. He’s pushing hard on the injunction. Initially, we only had Devon’s name and Better Beats as an LLC listed on the papers. I’ve asked him to add Ian, the rat, and also the journalist, Jeanie.”

  I bolt upright in the seat. “Why?”

  “If we want to prove duress, really push the private facts angle, then we need to encompass the whole journey. Leonard needs to show how a leak of information led to this. If he can milk the timeline, it makes it more believable that you’d suffer stress from the incident.”

  “I don’t want her involved.”

  “Why?” Rick huffs, leaning back and setting both hands on his thighs. “Because she sent you the goddamn thing, to begin with? Or because her conscience made her give you a heads up about the new version?”

  “Because she didn’t want it published. It was intended as an empty threat.”

  He snorts. “I bet that’s what she said.” He returns to the laptop, smacking away on the keyboard. “The girl will be shitting herself. She’s in deep, and we have even deeper pockets. She’s fucked.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t give my approval for this.”

  He pauses in what he’s doing and lifts his head. “I don’t need it.”

  “Take her name out.”

  Rick taps out a few more words and then pushes the laptop away. “Tell me why.”

  Maybe it isn’t so great that he found his confidence? “You don’t need to know. Just take her fucking name out of it.”

  “Not without a valid reason.” He leans back with a huff. “Look. I can turn a blind eye to the facts, but if I remove her from the chain of responsibility, the legal team will ask why. What will I tell them, huh?” He throws his hands up, allowing them to land with a slap. “Give me something, Toby.”

  I rise from my chair and pace across to the window. Rain peppers the city, the sheets falling in gently sweeping waves. I follow their movement, the way the droplets all sway together as though somehow in sync with one another. “I talked to her. In private.”

  “You did what?”

  I don’t spare Rick a look; I know what I’ll find. Anger mixed with frustration. “When she sent me the story, and I first visited that jackass, Devon, she followed me out of the offices to warn me that he intended to go against his word.”

  “You told me she said that. What else happened, Toby? Be specific.”

  “She phoned at the start. Repeatedly.” I lift one hand to the window, focusing on the contrast between my warm fingertip and the cold glass. “Didn’t abate. So, I called her to tell her to fuck off.”

  “And she got her hooks in.” Rick grumbles something incoherent, finishing with “fucking media.”

  “She didn’t.” I push my entire palm against the glass. “I threatened to go after her if she wrote anything about me. She did it anyway.” I smirk at the memory of our conversation. She had fucking guts. I might not have realized it at the time, but I admired her for it even then. “That’s when she sent it to me. The part I’ve told you about.”

  He crosses the room and stops at my side. “How did it become you two talking in private? And why the hell didn’t you consult me on this?”

  “I walked away after she warned me.” My hand falls to my side, and I turn my head to address Rick. “But she started calling again.”

  “What has she got on you?” He narrows his gaze. “What did she use to get you to talk?”

  “Nothing.” I chuckle, tossing my hands as I walk away. “I wanted to talk to her. So, I invited her to my place.”

  “Jesus, Toby.” Rick near has a breakdown on the spot. “What did she see? How bad is this leak?” He paces before the windows. “You’re a fucking moron.”

  “She didn’t see jack shit,” I appease. “You’ve seen my house; I keep everything tucked away.”

  He jabs a finger my way, face reddening. “If you’ve slept with her…”

  “I haven’t.” I wouldn’t have shied at the opportunity, though, if it had worked out that way. “Keep your fucking shirt on.”

  “How many times?”

  “Just once.”

  “When?”

  “Last weekend.”

  “What makes you feel she deserves this free pass, huh?” He resumes his spot in front of the laptop. “Convince me.”

  “As I said, it wasn’t her intention to let that story see the light of day. Why should she suffer because her boss is a fucker?” I drop onto the seat opposite him.

  “I need to talk to her myself.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  He meets my hard stare. “Yes. I do. And you,” he adds forcefully, “need to stay the hell away from her. No contact. No nothing. Delete her fucking number and call it off.”

  I sour as I slump back in the seat. “There’s nothing to call off.”

  “You shouldn’t sound so devastated by that.” He peeks at me briefly before returning to his computer. “It means you nipped this in the bud before it got out of hand.”

  “It would never get out of hand.” I stiffen my jaw. “I have it under control.”

  Rick sighs, not bothering to look
at me. “When will you learn that you’re not infallible, Toby?” He pauses to finish his typing, smacks what I assume to be the send button, and then leans back. “Maybe your fuck ups haven’t been as monumental as everyone else’s—yet. But your tie will come.”

  “Thanks for the pep-talk, champ.”

  “I’m not here to rub your back and powder your ass. I’m here to make sure you earn enough before your body gives out that you can enjoy a lengthy retirement.”

  “I could do that now.”

  “Could you? Honestly?” He narrows his eyes. “Factor in inflation, dwindling royalties when the newer generations forget your name. Do you truly think you’d make it another sixty years on what you’ve created so far?”

  He’s one hundred percent fact—and I hate it. “How many more years, Rick? How much longer do we have to do this?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It all depends on hard you all want to work. How serious the four of you fuckers are about the longevity of your careers, not only having a good time while you’re at it.”

  I laugh bitterly. “I don’t know if any of us have a good time at the moment.”

  “Bullshit.” His tone quietens. “I’ve seen you four when you’re up there, in the zone. Music is in your goddamn DNA. I know that’s a cliché, but trust me when I say that if tomorrow the entire world went deaf, you assholes would still find a way for them to experience the art you create.”

  All I can do is curl my lips into a half-smile. I can’t do this touchy-feely shit. I appreciate what he said more than anything, but vulnerability makes me uncomfortable.

  “If you want to get there, though,” Rick continues. “You need to ditch this woman. Now.” He folds his arms. “I mean it, Toby. No more contact. You two are done.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Jeanie

  “Rock Me” – Great White

  I lost my job today.

  I kill the screen, hiding the message I sent four hours ago. He hasn’t responded. Is he angry that I haven’t given him an answer for when or if he can visit? Has his window of time he mentioned run out?

  Why the hell do I depend on his reply over that of anyone else’s? Kelly came over for dinner and did her best to cheer me up, but it wasn’t the same. I need somebody who understands this burning passion in my chest to console me. Somebody who knows what it’s like to have the only thing you want to do in your life thrown into jeopardy.

  I came to bed early, certain that I’d be able to drift to sleep with how heavy my limbs feel. Instead, I’ve lain here for the better part of an hour, staring at slips of light across my ceiling, shadows across my furniture. Too much races through my mind. Too much for a simple game on my phone to dispel.

  I have rent to pay. Food to buy. I have to decide if I’ll stay here or if it’s necessary to beg Kelly for somewhere to sleep or offer my pride to Mom and Dad. And I have to make all these decisions soon when the weight of failure feels too burdensome to face.

  I haven’t cried in a long time. For every challenge that I’ve faced, there has always been another goal to redirect to. Something else to focus on. But today, everything came to an abrupt halt like a fucking gridlock on the highway of my life. All my career goals are intertwined, and I realized on the long walk home that all my life goals revolve around them too.

  I am precisely the problem Toby complained about: I don’t know who I am when I don’t have work to carry me through.

  The first tear comes slowly, as though it peeks out, unsure if it’s safe to be seen. I swipe the fucker away with the back of my hand, allowing the next an opportunity to track my opposite cheek. By the time I’ve given in the inevitable and resigned myself to the need to feel this moment, waterworks drip from my jawline and wet the bed beneath. I dig deeper into the bed, my soba coming in waves. Some gentle, others a full-body workout.

  I almost miss the notification.

  Using the edge of my sheet to clear my eyes, I tap the screen and breathe a sigh of relief.

  I’m sorry, babe.

  My lungs hiccup, chest aching from the convulsions when I pull myself up to sit against the headboard.

  It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.

  He takes a moment before he replies. I’m sorry for more than the loss of your job. I’m sorry I’m not there. I’m sorry I didn’t just give you that first interview. I’m sorry this is how things unfolded.

  I sit a little straighter. Something deep in my core tells me this is big for him. That he doesn’t often apologize like this—from the heart.

  I wish you were here. I could use the company.

  Need to talk? he responds.

  I smile and tap, Need somebody just to be there. Trying to sleep, but it’s not working all that well.

  He goes radio silent, and I set my phone on the nightstand to go clean myself up. I pad across the dark room and down to the bathroom, wetting the facecloth and giving my face the first wipe before I dare to look in the mirror. I tidy myself up as best I can, somewhat lighter after allowing myself to cry. I look a puffy mess, as though I had a run-in with food allergies, but I feel better. Nothing has changed—I still don’t have a job, I still feel too wired to sleep, but it’s as though none of that matters as much.

  I feel better prepared to weather the storm.

  I return to my bedroom, lights off, and the apartment back in darkness, to find a message waiting.

  I booked a flight. Don’t want to hear it—fuck you—shut up. You’ll need to hold it together until tomorrow.

  Too late. Already lost it. I add a laughing emoji so that he knows I’m looking at it from a humorous point of view … now.

  My phone vibrates in my hand. Damn it. Now is not the time to be seen. I answer but refuse to have my camera switched on.

  “Don’t deny me, Jeanie.” His authoritative tone fills my room. It seems I didn’t turn the volume down after losing time on TikTok. “You don’t get to choose when I can and can’t see you.”

  “Oh, really?” I tease. “Trust me. You do not want to see the result of my lapse into mania.”

  “I need to.” His answer is quiet, almost a plea.

  “I have puffy eyes, red cheeks, my hair is a mess, and I have no makeup on. You don’t want to witness this train wreck.”

  “Why do you assume I want to see you for all of that? Maybe I want to see you so I can feel the same, take some of it away.”

  I snort. “You can’t do that via video call, Toby.”

  “Want to bet?” The cockiness has returned. “Try it.”

  I press my lips together and let the fear wash through, and then tap the icon before I get a chance to chicken out again. My hands fly to my face, and I peek out at him between my fingers.

  “Cheater.” He chuckles, seated side-on a little distance from where his phone rests. The asshole looks gorgeous in nothing but a worn sweater and his signature dark jeans. How he can do that, I don’t know, but he’s a photographer’s dream, I’m sure of it.

  “You make me feel bad,” I whine. “Look at you.”

  Toby glances down at his attire. He seems to be seated on a balcony a few floors up. Enough that all I can glimpse over the railing is the top of some nearby buildings. “I’ve got on what I wore today,” he explains. “Don’t flatter yourself and think I dressed up for the call.”

  “But you look—” I stop myself before I say something utterly embarrassing. My hands slide a little lower, fingertips covering my undereye area.

  “I look?” He turns his head and slays me with a cheeky smile. “Do go on.”

  “No.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?” I snap.

  “Otherwise, I end the call.” He lifts one eyebrow.

  “Do whatever you want,” I challenge. “Doesn’t bother me any.” Totally does.

  He reaches across to touch the screen.

  “Youlookamazing.” I spit the words out in a torrent before he taps the button.

  Toby freezes, hand large
r than the rest of him. “Amazing.” That mischievous smirk returns. “Is that all?”

  “Of come on.” I throw my head back and groan. “How badly do you want me to stroke your ego?”

  “Made you show your face,” he taunts, relaxing against his seat once more.

  I flick my gaze to the small image of me in the corner. Fuck. “You utter asshole.”

  “I’ll take that too.” He chuckles. “Tell me why you can’t sleep, Jeanie.” He stares out across the surrounding cityscape. “Why is it scary to be alone?”

  I slump against the headboard; knees still bent to support my phone. “I don’t know. Well, I guess I do.” I huff a breath. “I think it’s because I feel as though it’s only me that’s this much of an epic failure.” I duck my chin.

  “Eyes up, precious.”

  I find Toby watching me, head turned.

  “You’re not the only one.” He looks away again s though to gather his thoughts. “I feel that way sometimes too.”

  “I seriously doubt it,” I scoff. “I understand what you mean about feeling as though who you are is caught up in what you do. But a failure? How you, of all people, feel like a failure when you’ve achieved the things you have?”

  “You only see the success.” He leans back, bracing both hands atop his head. “There’s a lot of screw-ups that go into each milestone for us.”

  “You’re talking about the band as a whole again, not just you,” I point out.

  “One and the same when it comes to this,” he retorts. “Everything I’ve worked towards, they have too. Rey, Emery, and Kris—they’re all as invested as I am.”

  “How is Rey?” I ask softly.

  “Came home yesterday. Promptly fucked off again.”

  “Where? Is everything okay?” Fuck the story this presents; I worry for Toby, for his family.

  “He’s fine.” Toby looks across and gives me another smile. “He had a girl he needed to see.”

  “You’re definitely brothers then, aren’t you?” I smile. “Sounds familiar.”

  “Can’t complain if that’s the only thing we have in common.” He sits straighter, dropping his arms. “Go to sleep, Jeanie. It’s late, and we could do this all night.”