Every Step You Take: A Psychological Thriller

by Avery Lane

  An awkward, delayed smile broke across Brighton’s face. Riley immediately regretted her joke. It felt as if she had brought something strange to the surface. But again, she reminded herself that she was projecting. Yes, she saw herself in Brighton. In the way his personality was suppressed in the presence of his significant other. In the way he only seemed comfortable expressing himself fully when that person wasn’t in the room. It was difficult for her not to wonder if he was quietly suffering from what she had dealt with for years – because she often wished someone had seen through Evan’s smoke and mirrors when she couldn’t, and saved her from all that time he took away from her.

  So if Riley could prevent someone from making the same mistake she did, she would do it.

  But it would also put her out of a job. One that paid a very handsome and needed fee.

  In the car, curiosity got the best of her.

  “How’s the guest list coming along?” Riley asked. She figured that was a fair question to ask considering it directly correlated with the work she was doing for them. But her intentions weren’t purely professional.

  “It’s good,” Brighton replied. “We might not actually hit a hundred invitations, though. So it might be smaller than we expected.”

  “Because of the short notice, you think?” The question was meant to prompt the true reason, what Riley suspected was the isolation a possessive partner might impart on their helpless significant other. Riley’s own guest list was small – not even half as many people as Sierra and Brighton had intended to have. If she had to be honest with herself, Riley’s only true guest was her mother. Everyone else was really there for Evan.

  “No, that’s not it.” Brighton turned to face her. “I think maybe we just don’t have a whole lot of family or friends in the area.”

  “Oh, really?” Riley arched an eyebrow. “Are you guys originally from somewhere else…or…?” This isn’t prying, right? These are normal questions that a normal wedding planner might ask.

  “We moved here from Austin where we met,” Brighton explained. “My family’s still in Vermont and they’re getting older and I just wanted to be closer. And Sierra was ready to try a new city. Brooklyn seemed like the right place for us so we moved here about six months ago.”

  “Oh, that’s not very long ago at all.” Riley was surprised they wanted to plan a wedding when they were barely settled in. Especially when most of their friends were somewhere else and had barely any notice to take off work and join them.

  “Sierra’s been eager to just, I don’t know, start over,” Brighton said. He spoke half to himself again, the way he had when he was waxing poetic about woodworking.

  “How come?” Okay, now this is prying. Brighton didn’t seem to notice.

  “She just gets antsy when she stays in one place for too long. And you know, the whole thing about starting a family closer to our own family.”

  “Where’s her family from?”

  “Actually…” Brighton bit back his lip, as if he had said something wrong. He considered something quietly before speaking again. “Sierra doesn’t have any family left, so the move up here was mostly to be near mine. She wanted our kids to have access to grandparents since she never had that. Vermont was too remote for her but she was originally from New York and since it had trains up to Vermont, we figured this was our best choice.”

  “And how are you doing making friends up here?” Riley couldn’t stop herself from the questions anymore. She was getting somewhere. Besides, Brighton didn’t seem to mind them or find them invasive at all.

  “A lot of my friends from Vermont are down here, actually. And it’s funny, but Brooklyn woodworkers find each other so we all hang out. I don’t know why I said that we don’t have much friends, we actually do.” Brighton looked skyward, like he was pondering his own choice of words. “I guess it’s more that Sierra doesn’t.”

  “Really?” Riley practically exclaimed. That was a surprise. Considering their personalities, she had been convinced it was the other way around.

  “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” Brighton said, eyes wide with worry. “She has friends, just not like, you know. Enough to fill a guest list of a hundred.”

  “Oh, of course, that’s totally normal,” Riley said, waving a hand in front of her and trying to make it all seem totally casual. Who was she to judge a lack of friends? Riley was still surprised though. But then again, six months wasn’t really enough time to establish close friendships.

  She frowned. She kind of felt bad for judging Sierra unfairly. And so erroneously, too. Which means she was projecting. Brighton and Riley weren’t the ones with something in common. It was Riley and Sierra.

  Since they both didn’t have any friends.

  At least Sierra has an excuse.

  “Hey, are you hungry?” Brighton asked.

  “Uh, no, we just had a feast,” Riley laughed. Brighton pointed out the window at a poster advertising a nearby food hall. The poster was admittedly enticing, featuring a collage of classic food porn – burgers, sushi, dumplings, noodles, kebobs.

  “I’ve been meaning to try that place.”

  “So you wanna go now?”

  “Yeah, is that okay?” he asked. “You can just drop me off here if you don’t want to come.”

  “I…well…” Riley looked at the poster. Then at Brighton. He could be a friend…right? People met friends through work all the time. Why couldn’t she? Because of those arbitrary rules she made up for herself? Besides, beggars can’t be choosers. And in the friends department, Riley was definitely a beggar. So she couldn’t be choosy about whose company she accepted, right? “You know what, I’ll come with you.”

  “Okay, great!” Brighton said, smiling a wide smile as he opened the door and pulled Riley out.

  18

  She sat across from Brighton, a smorgasbord of junk food laid out between them. He had paid for everything, insisting that it was because he was planning on consuming most of it on his own. Riley wondered how some guys could put away the amount of food they did without being three-hundred pounds. Brighton was at that age where guys started to develop those little beer bellies if they hadn’t already, and yet there were no signs of that.

  In the hustle and bustle of the crowded food hall, conversation wasn’t exactly easy. They had to yell a whole lot and lean in over all the greasy foods to hear one another.

  But despite the fact that having the actual conversation proved difficult, the conversation itself came easy.

  Even after all that Riley had since learned, it was surprising to see Brighton engaging in string after string of run-on sentences – sentences that had tangents that lead to new conversations in the midst of the last. It should’ve been a mess to follow and despite the fact that Brighton’s words were like unpredictable, rolling waves, Riley felt like the skilled surfer who knew how to catch every one.

  Riley wasn’t sure if she was naturally a comfortable conversationalist or if she and Brighton just clicked.

  After covering those typical, topical subjects like television, movies, current events, local gossip – Riley could feel a shift into more personal territory. After all, there was no way anyone could talk for an hour about their thoughts, feelings, and opinions without revealing something more about themselves.

  At an hour in, Riley was officially no longer on the clock as Brighton’s wedding planner. Now they were in each other’s company in a completely voluntary manner, ignoring whatever time constraints they previously said they had.

  And though Riley had known Brighton for a mere week or so, and this marked only the third time she had seen him, she noted that this was the closest thing she had to an actual friend. Her instinct was to lament over the fact, but it all felt too good to step out of the moment.

  The first real pause in conversation was what finally threw her.

  Brighton had been in the middle of telling her a story about applying to law school to appease his parents when a young couple strolled by. A b
aby was strapped to the father’s chest while the mother held a little girl’s hand, double-tasking as she walked and wiped the melted strawberry ice cream from the toddler’s face.

  He made no attempt to be subtle, watching them so intently that he had actually caught the father’s eye. Riley felt a flush of embarrassment over her new friend’s strange behavior, but to her surprise, the father smiled at Brighton. And Brighton quickly returned it before the family disappeared back into the crowd.

  “You really like kids, don’t you?” Riley asked, breaking the sudden awkward silence. Brighton turned back to her with that same surprised look he always had when returning to the real world. It was a revival of the Brighton that Riley thought she knew. First Impression Brighton. The strange, reserved man that seemed to live just for Sierra. Not the vibrant, fleshed-out Brighton that Riley had come to know since.

  “I do, but I don’t even know why,” Brighton laughed, seemingly embarrassed to confess it. “I think I just had a lot of thoughts growing up about how I would be as a parent. And I’d like a chance to put it into play, you know?”

  “Sort of,” Riley said, pursing her lips. “But I can’t help but think of all the ways I know I’d mess it up. Kind of like how my mom messed me up.”

  “You don’t seem messed up to me.”

  “I’m just kidding, sort of,” Riley replied, realizing she was still talking to a client. It was probably best to hide her neuroses when she was tasked to plan the most important day of their lives. But she also didn’t want to build a wall between the openness and comfort she now felt around him.

  “So you don’t want kids?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She wasn’t lying. She really didn’t know. Evan had convinced her that she didn’t. Because he didn’t. But now that she was on her own, she really wasn’t sure. “Did you always know you wanted kids?”

  “I think I always thought I’d have them, just because that’s what people do,” Brighton replied. “But since I met Sierra…I don’t know. I guess I would really like to be a father.” He removed his glasses, wiping them down with the hem of his shirt. His eyes looked sparkly, even in the dim lighting of the food hall. Riley realized then that he had been crying.

  Riley swallowed hard, feeling immediately nervous. She was ill equipped with handling tears, especially if they were coming out a full-grown man.

  But Brighton stopped her from having to say anything at all.

  “Sierra had a miscarriage,” he said. “We found out just yesterday. She just wasn’t up for coming in today, but she didn’t want to delay the meeting since we’re on a time crunch.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Riley said, covering her mouth. Her heart dropped as she remembered how Sierra had said that the whole point of the wedding was to show their future kids those beautiful, idyllic photos of their parents’ union. She was pregnant when she had said that. The rush to get married was probably so she wouldn’t already be showing on her wedding day.

  “No, God. I’m the one who should be sorry,” Brighton said, letting out a low chuckle through his tears. He cleared his throat, replacing the glasses on his face and looking somewhat normal again as he stuck a cold fry in his mouth. “We’re not paying you enough to be my therapist too.”

  “Don’t be sorry, please,” Riley replied. “I’m happy to listen as a friend.” The word sounded so awkward on her lips. Brighton had been staring out into space, brows furrowed. But as soon as that word left Riley’s mouth, his face relaxed a little. He turned back to her, an appreciative smile on his face.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Do you want to maybe head back?” Riley asked. “Maybe we can pack up some food for Sierra?”

  “No, she said she wants to be alone. And despite everything in me telling me that I should be with her right now, I have to respect that. So I’m going to hang back for a bit.”

  Riley frowned. But it wasn’t because she felt Brighton was wrong. It was that she had gotten their relationship so very wrong. Sierra and Brighton weren’t anything like what she and Evan were. It wasn’t some secretly toxic, oppressive relationship. Brighton simply knew when to step back, when to give Sierra space.

  What it must be like to have a man like him...

  She blinked, realizing that she had been wordlessly staring at Brighton, lost in her own thoughts. And to her embarrassment, one of those thoughts was how attractive she found him.

  Riley reasoned that she had simply misinterpreted a friend crush as something more. She liked Brighton because they were bonding and she hadn’t bonded with anyone in ages. The fact that he was objectively good-looking was just…confusing things.

  She looked down, saving herself as best she could in that moment. Her gaze was fixed on the cold fries sitting between them. It was a better option than continuing to stare at Brighton, noting his chiseled jaw and boyish charm.

  Brighton’s hand crossed her vision, picking up a curly fry and dipping it into some fancy flavored mayonnaise. Then he held it out in front of Riley’s face.

  “Eat,” he said. “I feel rude being the only one eating.”

  “It’s cold,” Riley protested, though she was smiling in relief. If Brighton had resolved to move on from that very heavy topic, Riley figured she should follow suit.

  “It’s even better cold,” Brighton replied, dangling the little spring of fried potato. Riley wrinkled her nose in doubt. “Okay, it’s not, but it’s still kind of crispy.”

  “Okay, fine!” Riley declared, reaching for the fry. But Brighton pulled it away, swinging it forward just enough to dab her nose with some of the dip. She pulled back, wiping the dip off her nose as she laughed.

  “Let’s try that again,” he said. Brighton reached across the table, presenting Riley with the fry. He raised his eyebrows before lowering his gaze to her lips.

  Though she felt strange about it, she opened her mouth, tipping her head back to allow Brighton to feed her the fry. His fingers grazed her bottom lip as he retreated.

  Riley blushed. That felt wrong. But Brighton didn’t seem to think so. He had just gone right back to eating like nothing unusual had happened.

  Though she realized now that Brighton wasn’t as reserved as she had initially thought, she didn’t think he’d be the type to physically feed her. Something about that felt oddly intimate. But then again, if Sierra had tried to feed her the fry, she would’ve been less taken aback. So maybe it wasn’t that weird?

  “We’re out of napkins,” Riley realized as she looked for something to wipe the grease from her mouth. “I’m going to go get some.”

  She walked over to the nearest booth in the food hall, the place where they had bought the fries in the first place. Next to the cash register was a napkin dispenser.

  Riley grabbed a couple before realizing the young female cashier was looking at her. She was smiling in an odd kind of way, as if she shared a secret with Riley. Riley smiled a stiff smile back, one that was meant to be inquisitive, as if to force the cashier to explain herself.

  “You and your boyfriend are super cute,” the cashier said, twirling a strand of her brown hair.

  “Oh, he’s not my –”

  “Usually I think it’s cheesy when couples feed each other, but I can tell you two are like super into each other. Like even before when you guys were buying the food, I just like totally felt your chemistry. I’m so jealous.”

  “Okay,” Riley grimaced. “Thanks.”

  “Like he still checks you out,” the cashier pouted, looking over Riley’s shoulder in Brighton’s direction. “He was watching you the whole time you were walking over here.”

  “No he wasn’t,” Riley scoffed. She looked over her own shoulder to see Brighton’s gaze fixed on her.

  He looked away as soon as he was caught.

  19

  Brighton and Sierra wouldn’t make it for cake tasting – calling in at the very last minute to cancel. Sierra had made the call herself, apologizing profusely, but not sounding al
l too bad considering what Riley now knew. Sierra didn’t mention the miscarriage, nor did she mention if Brighton had told her that he already told Riley.

  The two of them had spent a lot of time occupying Riley’s thoughts since that day. Their veneer of perfection had been chipping away and it was all being painted over by their recent tragedy. It was hard to shake the image of Brighton looking longingly at that family in the food hall. The quiet tears that followed.

  It was all almost enough to keep her from thinking about the strange way that day ended.

  With the canceled appointment, Riley’s schedule suddenly opened up to more catch up work on her other open projects. She was kind of looking forward to spending an entire day at the office with Marco, just clearing out checklists and tying up loose ends.

  But as luck would have it as of late, she was met with an obstacle as soon as she wrapped her hand around the doorknob to her office.

  The door jammed at just four inches open.

  It wasn’t too unusual. The office door didn’t fit quite perfectly in its frame and between the ongoing construction and the wildly changing temperatures of spring in New York, the door would occasionally jam.

  She put her shoulder into it, but it only opened another inch.

  It was then that she noticed the sea of red inside.

  “Riley?” She could hear Marco call from the other side. He sounded a bit frantic. She heard a couple clangs and heavy footsteps before suddenly, the door was opened fully. Riley stepped inside, eyes wide as she surveyed the implausible scene before her.

  Marco stood in the midst of dozens of glass and metal vases, spread across every flat surface of her office – all over the floor, on their desks, on the shelves, the windowsills. In the vases were an assortment of flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of flowers. Thousands of dollars worth of flowers. All a bright, threatening red.

  “What the hell is this?” Riley asked. Her voice was shrill. She noticed then that Marco had his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He held two tall vases in his arms, long stems of red roses brushing against the sides of his face.