would tell him how I felt. I would apologize. I would ask how he felt. I would…
Voicemail.
Fuck.
“Um. Heya, Beale. So, it’s me… Toby Elford.”
Jesus Christ, how had I ever graduated kindergarten?
“I was just calling to say hi. And Mason said a plague of food poisoning hit the island, so I wondered how you were. And I think I owe you money. And also an apology.”
I ran out of breath and choked on my own saliva as I gasped air into my lungs, since my family line had clearly not evolved to the point where we could speak and breathe at the same time.
“So maybe.” Cough. “You could call me back? My number is…” I coughed some more. “Um. Actually. I guess it’s probably already on your phone, since that’s how phones work. Ha! Well. Alrighty, then. Hope you’re well. Um. Bye.”
I closed my eyes and smacked the phone against my forehead repeatedly. Had I actually just left a voice message in which I overtly referenced gastrointestinal illness and aspirated my own spit simultaneously?
“Why must you always be such an overachiever, Tobias?” I moaned.
Thank God my readers couldn’t see me.
But the good news was that when you hit bottom, there was nowhere to go but up, right?
“Tommy? Tommy! Damn, baby, what’re the chances? Been callin’ you for weeks!”
The bad news was that so often when you thought you’d hit bottom, you hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
I opened my eyes to find Aron standing in front of me on the sidewalk, flanked by a couple other muscleheads. They were all dressed to the nines, like they were out on the prowl, and the look on Aron’s face as he stared at me suggested I was a Christmas miracle that had appeared a few months early.
One of the friends jabbed the other in the bicep, and they rolled their eyes behind Aron’s back in a knowing way, like they thought their friend was about to score before they even made it to the club.
The very idea made me wanna vomit.
“Mi angel, can we talk for a second?” Aron reached out a hand for me, and when I sidestepped, he darted a glance at the others, like he didn’t want me to get away but also didn’t want to explain my presence to his friends.
I inhaled sharply. Once again, my instincts were screaming at me to walk away, run away, deflect, and retreat, but I made myself stand firm. I wasn’t going to do that anymore. Leaving Whispering Key was the last time I would run away.
From now on, I was running toward something. Toward Beale.
So instead, I pretended that Beale was standing behind me, his broad chest against my back.
“I told you not to mi angel me,” I said, folding my arms. “It was bad enough hearing it the night you staged that picture.”
“What? Tommy, come on.” Aron smiled for his friends’ benefit and reached for me again. “Two minutes—”
“Zero minutes, and do not place your hand on me unless you’d like me to explain to your friends exactly how a photographer from BlazeNewz helped you pay for that Tom Ford.” I gave his suit a critical eye. “Under these streetlights, you look positively jaundiced. Silver is so not your color.”
He forced a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy. I didn’t stage—”
“Of course, I’m sure your friends will find out all the details when I testify on behalf of Jayd Rollins. I’ve already given an affidavit that the picture was staged,” I lied, not bothering to lower my voice. “I named you and BlazeNewz specifically, and explained all about the deal I was offered to out Jayd for money—”
“Aron, what’s he talking about?” One of Aron’s friends elbowed him in the side.
Aron seemed too busy staring at me to notice.
“I’m not certain whether his team are planning to go forward with things from a legal standpoint first,” I continued blithely, “or just get HiWire News to write up a huge exposé of the situation. First they need to contact your gym to see how they feel about one of their trainers being involved in something like this. And they’ll contact that body competition thingy, too—”
“Muscle Men of Manhattan?” Aron’s eyes were round. “No.”
“Yep.” I inspected my nails. “But it won’t be so bad. Your bosses might not be happy, and I’m not sure if the Muscle Men will want someone of your moral standing to compete, but at least you have your blood money, right? Better than the choice you gave Jayd.”
“Jayd?” Aron’s other