Fulcrum (Dark Tide Book 4)

by Max Henry

  "Making sure I don't get pulled into the conversation," he says with a lilt of humor.

  "Antisocial fucker," Rey mutters.

  "Energy-draining extrovert," Kris replies.

  I chuckle at the both of them. They're as far from each other as you can get, but more alike than either one wants to admit. Both dark and moody fuckers. Both obsessed with their girl. Guess I could check that box, too.

  "What you doing?" Rey jerks his chin at my phone.

  I didn't realize I had the fucking thing in my hand. "Not much."

  "What you been doing this past week?" He squints one eye, watching me over the crackle of his cigarette.

  "Relaxing before I have to deal with your dramatic asses," I quip. "What's it to you?"

  He shrugs, black hair casting a shadow across his face. "I talked to Cassie after I left lunch the other day. She mentioned you were busy with something else but was shady about it." He smirks. "We're gonna be uncles, huh?"

  "Can you imagine how messed up that kid will be with our influence in its life?" I chuckle. "Cassie has her work cut out if she lets it near us before it turns twenty-one."

  "Right?" He shunts one hand in the pocket of his shredded jeans. "Would have been cool to have uncles like us growing up, though. Might have stopped us making a few mistakes if somebody had done it for us first."

  "Wouldn't be as much fun then." I open a thread from Rick, sent on the down-low that contains the latest details of the court case. He asks again if I'd been in touch with Jeanie.

  I avoided answering him last time. Not sure how much longer I can do that.

  Kris stamps his cigarette out and skulks back inside without a word. Nothing unusual for the quiet fucker. Rey watches him go before tossing his lit butt to the ground as well.

  "Can you keep a secret?" I run my thumbs along the sides of my phone.

  Rey huffs a laugh out his nose. "You should know me well enough to know the answer to that, brother."

  He has a point. "I'm cautious. You know that."

  "What's the problem?" He shifts to face me, arms folded and one elbow on top of a metal bollard.

  "The legal action," I start. "The journo who's detailed on the subpoena draft…"

  He smirks. "I'm going to love this shit, aren't I?"

  "Possibly a bit too much."

  He rubs his hands together.

  "I might have gone to see her last week." I lift one hand to rub the back of my neck.

  "You sneaky dog," Rey exclaims. His eyes brighten at the gossip. "You're fucking her, aren't you?"

  "No, I mean yeah, but it's more than that."

  The smile slides off his face. He loves to rib me about chicks since I'm not as promiscuous as some, but I'm not usually this serious about it. Come to think of it, I hardly ever talk about shit like women with him.

  "What's the catch?" He frowns.

  "Apart from the fact she's a fucking vulture?" I laugh bitterly. "Rick vetoed me from seeing her."

  "Dude." He grins again. "You're grounded."

  "Like that ever stopped me," I mutter. "I need an outside point of view," I admit. "And not one who only looks at this from a legal standpoint."

  Rey jerks his chin as though to say, "Carry on."

  "Do I waste my time with her?'

  "Hate to break it to you, brother." He tugs another cigarette out. "But only you can answer that."

  Fuck me. Exactly what I hoped he wouldn't say. "She reckons we won't last."

  "Has it even begun?" He mutters the question around the nicotine stick before lighting the end. "Why does she feel like that? Did she tell you? Chicks can't help but tell you shit you didn't ask to know."

  "I asked."

  "You are pussy-whipped," he announces, saying each word slowly. "But honestly, what did she say?"

  "It's a conflict of interest. Specifically, she thinks she couldn't keep her interest out of my business in a professional capacity."

  "Maybe you don't mean as much to her."

  "That's what I said."

  He grins, waggling his cigarette at me. "Let me guess. She flipped out."

  I stare at the asshole. "You've spent too much time with Tabby already."

  "Nah." He draws a lungful of smoke. "Paid too much attention to how Cassie always got what she wanted from Mom and Dad when we were teens. Women are emotional creatures, bro, but they want you to think it's all involuntary."

  "It's not?"

  "Fuck no," he hollers. "They drop that bottom lip all the time when they feel like they're losing. Women know exactly what they want," he stresses. "But they'd never tell you that."

  "Then how the fuck do I figure out what she does want," I ask, straightening up. "Because she won't tell me, and I don't know."

  "You've got to figure it out," he says before pressing his lips together. "Trial and error. But you can't do it via phone or video or anything." His gaze narrows. "Half of the conversation is physical."

  "I'm not fucking her just to get to the bottom of it."

  Rey reaches out and slaps me around the side of the head. "Dumb shit. I mean, you need to feel her, get in her aura and vibe that energy."

  "What the fuck happened to my brother?" I slide off the transformer. "And who are you?"

  "Funny." He stamps out the smoke. "I don't know what other words to use."

  "You're a lyricist," I tease as we head for the door.

  "Doesn't mean I know how to explain women."

  FORTY-TWO

  Jeanie

  “Say Something” – Eskimo Joe

  “This is humiliating.” I stare at the latest polite rejection in my inbox before setting the phone down on the café table. “Most people want to know why I left Better Beats, and I swear to God the bullshit lines that avoid the truth aren’t convincing anyone.”

  “Why do you have to be so cynical?” Kelly asks. She spins my screen around and skims the email still on the display. “Maybe they really don’t have any openings right now?”

  “I’ve contacted nine publications in the last twenty-four hours, and I’m already over it.”

  “Would Edison have discovered the light-bulb if he gave up?”

  “Shit analogy, sis.” I scowl at her sunny demeanor.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes and absently stirs her hot chocolate. “Stephen King. He’s a famous writer who almost gave up, right?”

  “He threw Carrie in the trash, and the story goes his wife rescued it.”

  “Use whoever fits.” She waves her hand at me and takes a sip of her drink. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” I groan and set my elbows on the table, burying both hands in my knotted hair. “I couldn’t even be assed brushing my hair this morning. That’s how over doing anything that requires effort, I am.”

  “From what you’ve told me, Toby gave you some sound advice.” She taps her manicured nail against the mug. “I’m surprised he didn’t offer to use his connections.”

  I wish I could afford to get my nails done. “I’m glad he didn’t.” I lean back against the seat with a sigh. “I would have felt like a freeloading user.”

  “If he offered it, you shouldn’t.”

  “You know I like to do things through my own merit.”

  Kelly makes a grunt. “Sure. And that’s why you paid for insider information instead of getting it yourself.”

  “That I needed help with,” I argue. “What was I supposed to do? Go door knocking backstage at concerts?”

  “Stranger things have been done.” She checks her watch and sighs. “I need to get going, so I’m not late back to work.” I cringe as she drops enough money on the table for the two of us. “Give me a call later, and we can talk more about it.”

  “There’s not much else to say.” I fidget with the cuff of my cream fisherman’s knit jumper. “Just got to keep trying until somebody says they want my journalism skills.”

  Kelly stalls beside the table, her fingertips poised on the edge as she looks down at me. “Why do you have to
write for an online publication?”

  “Because that’s what I like to do.” I frown at her, wondering if she trips on too much cocoa or something.

  “I mean, why restrict yourself to that?” She taps her fingers on the table before hoisting her purse strap onto her shoulder. “There are plenty of other ways to get your words published.”

  I stare at my sister as she leans down to kiss me on the cheek and then strides from the café, decked out in her pristine white uniform. She’s the picture of professionalism—an utter contrast to me as I sit here decked out in my favorite boyfriend jeans and a band shirt that I picked up at a thrift store. It confuses me why I envy her when what I wear is normal for my industry. What is it about her clean-cut, put together lifestyle that I want? The stability, you doofus. I’d rather poke my eyes out with a glass thermometer than be a pharmacist, but I envy that she goes to work knowing what’s expected of her and knowing she’ll always have something to do. She operates by a clear rule book, and at the end of each week, she gets paid.

  I wake up each day wondering what’s new in the music world and juggle pennies like a circus clown to make ends meet.

  My life isn’t predictable, and it’s not assured. But I can’t imagine doing anything else, and that is where I get stuck. My persona craves the security of a regular job, but my artistic side screams for the freedom to create. I can’t have my cake and eat it too. No matter what I do, I’ll always harbor a little bit of longing for the one I don’t choose.

  I snatch my phone off the table and add a paltry few bills to what Kelly left the server. Hardly a tip the guy will retire on, but I feel shitty if I don’t contribute something. The winter chill ices my bones the second I step outside, and I shrug my jumper a little closer while cursing leaving my jacket at home. Every damn time, I opt to drop it on the back of the sofa rather than have to tote it around with me, and every damn time I get caught out.

  I huddle against the shopfronts as I head toward the bus stop and grip my phone close to my chest. I tried your suggestion and started with some websites. No luck yet. I haven’t heard a thing from Toby since he left two days ago. Not that I expected to when he’s busy in the studio, but a girl at least hopes for a goddamn ‘hello’ when the guy has had his dick in you.

  I reach the bus stop and cram myself in the only sheltered spot left, on the opposite side of a Perspex advertising screen from a homeless guy. Seeing him seated there is a slap to the senses that things could be worse—way worse. I feel a little sorry for him, knowing that the nights get icier and the temperatures lower. I almost consider giving him something until I count out my change and find I have twenty cents more than the bus fare.

  Thirty dollars in my food jar at home, and then I’m toast. Happy days. I suppose there’s always eating in the dark; lights are overrated. Although, I’m pretty sure my fridge and hot water would appreciate the power. Shit.

  “Spare me anything, sweetheart?”

  I damn near jump out of my skin at the raspy voice to my left. He seemed old, but his voice is that of a younger guy. And soothing, in a Barry White smoky kind of way.

  I poke my head around the ad panel. “I’ve only got enough for the fare. Sorry.”

  He nods and lifts a finger to the peak of his ball cap. I smile at the guy and then drop my gaze to the pile of coverings at his side, and my heart melts. Nestled under the folded tarpaulin is a small pink nose.

  “Have you got a puppy?”

  The guy glances down, and I get a peek at the smooth skin on the side of his neck. Definitely not as old as I thought. “Yeah. He’s ten weeks tomorrow. New on the block.” He chuckles.

  “May I pat him?” I step out of the shelter.

  “Sure.” The guy shifts the puppy into his arms and rises to his feet. “He’s a little bitey, working on those milk teeth.” I note the slight limp to the guy as he steps forward.

  “I don’t mind.” I reach out and rub the pale-colored puppy on the top of its head. “He’s adorable.”

  “Won’t be for long.”

  I give the guy a frown.

  He nods down at the dog. “Red nose. He’ll be my best friend and protector.”

  I glance back at the man’s earnest green eyes and then down at the dog. “I’m sure he’ll be fantastic at both.”

  “Yeah, he will. You have a nice day, Ma’am.”

  I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. I glance at the money clutched in my fist and then at the guy as he re-settles himself on the ground. I’m going to kick myself for this in about ten minutes, I know it.

  “I think you could use this more than me.” I hold out the bills and then set them in his repurposed takeout tray. “Get that little guy something to chew on too.” I add the coins; why the fuck not?

  “Bless you, Ma’am.” He tips his head, friendly eyes following me as I walk away.

  I shove my hands in my jeans pockets to keep them warm and begin the trek home. Sure enough, I’m a few blocks in when the selfish desire for a warm bus crosses my mind. Nope. If that guy can weather it, so can I. My feet ache, and my chest matches. I pull breaths through a frozen throat, exhales puffing before me like little clouds of train steam. At least I have my parents to fall back on; no matter how bad things turn out, I have a family. I don’t know that guy’s situation but seeing him find joy with that little pup, even though the dog represented how dangerous his living situation is, reminded me how easy it is to overlook the things we have to be grateful for.

  I’ve got my health. I have my family, strained as half the relationships might be. And I have my passion. I have youth on my side. No obligations hold me to any one time or place. I’m free to explore and rediscover myself, should I wish. And I have a bonus of naivety as a young woman on my side. There’s so much yet to learn before I’m wise and old and, to be frank, that’s kind of exciting to think about.

  My phone chimes deep in my pocket, vibrating against my hand. I think back to the guy, wishing I’d said something more, as I pull the device out.

  Early days.

  Two fucking words are all it takes from the guy to forgive him for the radio silence. I’m a fool.

  How are things there? I take it you survived the smack on the hand from management. I add an emoji with the tongue poking out.

  Barely. Rey and Kris are working through some of the melodies. I’m bored.

  I get a vision of Toby seated outside the recording room, those long legs kicked up on something while he waits for his turn. Take a walk or something.

  Done that. Eaten way too much. Played twenty levels of a puzzle game thing on my phone. Bought clothes online. Paid my electric bill. He adds a crazed emoji. Living the dream.

  I chuckle. Thanks to the warmth he stokes inside, the wind doesn’t seem so bitter anymore. If you’re scratching for something to do, you could search job listings for me. TIA.

  He sends a line of laughing emojis. Nope. Not that bored—yet. A beat passes while I walk, thinking about what to reply. He beats me to the punch. Miss you.

  I highly doubt that. He’s in the throes of what he loves to do. He might think he misses me now, but when he gets behind that drum kit, I’ll be far from his mind. Your mind isn’t occupied with music, that’s all.

  Makes no difference.

  I have to stop walking to catch my breath. Silence meant nothing. Toby didn’t have to message me to prove a goddamn thing. Knowing he felt secure enough to leave the line quiet for a few days says so much more. He’s for real. He actually fucking means this.

  And I told him we’d never work.

  I miss you too. And I damn well do. I don’t need his connections or fame; I just want him. I need how it feels to have him there, physically beside me. I crave his company.

  Visit? Can’t tell me you’re busy with anything that you can’t do here.

  My first instinct is to scream yes. But, You’d be too busy to spend much time with me. Maybe when you have a break. I’m a realist.

  You know that’s bul
lshit. I’ve sat here for the past hour and a half. I’ve got plenty of time.

  I roll my eyes and start walking again. You want me to warm the studio seats with you?

  Who said you’d be here?

  The rejection stings.

  I’d rather have you naked in my hotel room.

  Mother. Fucker. This time, I have to stop to get control of certain parts of my goddamn anatomy. Great. I’ve been promoted from seat warmer to cock warmer.

  He sends a laughing emoji. We wouldn’t always be fucking, but that’s a definite bonus. TBH I want to lie beside you and talk more. I want to know everything there is to learn about you, Jeanie.

  Nobody has said that to me—ever. I’ve always been the one searching for information, fascinated with another person’s life. Not once have the tables been turned until this guy. A motherfucking drummer from a goddamn rock band. It’s a tragic cliché waiting to happen.

  I’m not that interesting. I don’t have tales of the backstage, random run-ins with other celebrities. I have mind-numbing accounts of my lame attempts to keep a peace lily alive and how my empathy for a goddamn rocker cost me my job.

  Let me be the judge of that. I think you’re fascinating.

  Big word there, buddy. He lays it on pretty thick. Must really want that naked body in his room.

  Make you feel awkward?

  Only a lot.

  Then get used to it. I’ll keep using the big words until you’re comfortable with them. He hesitates before his dots dance again. I’m booking you a flight—gives me something to do. He signs off with a winking emoji.

  Fine. But I don’t need first class this time.

  You’ll get what I fucking give you.

  FORTY-THREE

  Toby

  “City on the Water” – The Stone Foxes

  Doesn’t matter how many times I refresh the flight tracker on my phone, her flight is delayed. I flick back to the thread with Rick and read his latest bullshit stand on her defamation case involvement.

  Devon received his subpoena this morning. Court official time-stamped the service at 9:01 AM.

  Full steam ahead. Once Wallace got hold of the article, the damn thing was ripped clean from my hands. So much for this being self-funded. The case stopped being about just me when Devon decided to drag Rey’s reputation as a reliable artist through the mud.