Every Step You Take: A Psychological Thriller

by Avery Lane

  “I don’t know,” Brighton sighed. Riley could smell now the alcohol on his breath and clothes. This cocktail was definitely not his first.

  Uh oh, Riley frowned.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brighton repeated, removing his glasses and wiping them with his shirt. His voice was flat. It didn’t invite her to further inquire.

  Even so, she wanted to ask him what was going on, but Riley was still distracted by the initial goal of her night. The whole point of being out was the hope of luring the dark figure out of the shadows. But she hadn’t felt anyone following her on the way to the bar. And she didn’t see anyone sketchy sitting around her. Perhaps she should’ve asked to be seated closer to the window…? Or maybe that person was already out there now? Waiting for her?

  Was it better that she had run into someone she knew? Safer, probably. But would Brighton’s presence scare him off?

  Brighton drank from his glass, bending the swizzle stick over the edge of the lowball. After his initial surprise over seeing Riley, Brighton had receded into a surly disposition – nothing she had ever seen on him before.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she prodded, albeit reluctantly.

  “I don’t know if that’s appropriate,” Brighton said. Riley blushed immediately. She wasn’t sure why his statement had made her feel so embarrassed.

  “Oh, it’s fine we can talk about something else.”

  “I only say that because, you know, you’re our wedding planner,” Brighton continued. “And I feel like…I don’t want you to think that we’re not necessarily going through with the wedding based off the things I might say.”

  “Oh,” Riley said. That made sense. Though now she was extra concerned. “Is that a possibility? That the wedding’s not happening? What’s going on?”

  Brighton bit back his lower lip, looking away as he thought. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth and it was then that Riley noticed a long cut on the cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

  She squinted at him through the dim lighting. There was the tiniest hint of a green splotch under his left eye. A bruise. A black eye that was struggling to heal.

  Riley thought about how Sierra had gotten in Evan’s face, how intimidating she was in that moment. She thought about how Evan cowered. How even he had instinctively known to fear her.

  Then she thought about what that might mean for Brighton. As much as Riley had come to love Sierra and as much as Brighton seemed to love her too, there was no denying that he was a different person in her presence. He seemed suppressed and scared, obedient in a way that no longer appeared healthy.

  She wondered about how she had initially suspected Brighton was to Riley as Sierra was to Evan. She considered the fact that she had thought Evan to be incapable of violence, only to be proven wrong.

  Had Sierra hurt Brighton? Was he in the midst of his own awakening?

  Riley and Sierra hadn’t texted much in the weeks following Evan’s death. There was just too much going on to talk like normal. And as close as she felt she had gotten with Sierra, she knew now that it’d be naïve to think she knew her.

  But could she really be capable of hurting Brighton?

  “I promise I won’t judge,” Riley finally said. “Say what you need to say. I won’t let it get in the way of my relationship with Sierra. But if you need to talk, if you need help…you need to say something.”

  Brighton looked back at Riley, lowering his hands back to the table. Riley noticed the scratches and scrapes across his fingers. Had they been there before? She was pretty sure they had. He was a woodworker so it would make sense…but in light of the black eye and busted lip, it felt nefarious.

  “After eight years together…” He struggled to maintain eye contact with Riley. “I still don’t really know her sometimes. I can’t predict her. And I’m starting to realize that maybe…maybe I’m afraid of her.” Brighton didn’t need to tell Riley that. She had sensed it early in knowing them. But then she had thought she was wrong. After all, they were more often good than not.

  “I felt that way about Evan,” Riley said, sympathetically.

  “I could tell,” Brighton said. A sad smile broke across his face. “For the most part, I know how to read her now. But when I’m wrong, I’m on edge for days. I’ll do anything for Sierra. I love her. I love her more than anyone I’ve ever loved. I’ll do whatever she asks as long as she asks. But sometimes she doesn’t ask. And I’m left to guess. And it feels like this dangerous game I no longer know how to play.”

  A pretty blonde waitress had swooped over, dressed in a tight black cocktail dress with her little notepad ready to take Riley’s order. She had interrupted at the worst possible time, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Riley flipped through the menu as if she had already chosen something, though she knew full well she hadn’t the slightest clue what to order. Eventually, she settled on a Dark and Stormy and watched as the waitress strutted away.

  Their fight to look normal in front of the waitress seemed to have residual effects. When their attention returned to each other, it was as if they weren’t talking about anything bad at all.

  “Do you want to talk about something else?” Brighton asked, seemingly eager to capitalize on this inertia.

  “If you want,” Riley replied. But she didn’t want him to move on. She wanted to hear more. She would feel terrible if she learned later that she had been so blinded by the prospect of Sierra’s friendship and the business of their wedding at the expense of Brighton’s life. But she couldn’t bring herself to say those things. It sounded awfully melodramatic.

  “I feel like I need to balance out the bad things I said about Sierra really quickly,” Brighton said, clearing his throat. “I really love her. We just got into a small fight earlier today and she ran off and I was on my own and…sometimes I feel like without her, I don’t know who I am. And because she was ignoring me, it just made me start to wonder, you know?”

  Oh boy, did Riley know.

  She had had the same thoughts with Evan. She had very much been there. If this is how Brighton had been feeling, then there was no doubt that Sierra was mistreating him. She just knew this with what she’d observed of them. From what she’d experienced on her own. And Sierra and Brighton had been together eight years – just about the time into Riley’s relationship with Evan where she realized something wasn’t quite right.

  But not everyone’s experiences were exactly the same. There was no reason to believe that Sierra’s treatment of Brighton would escalate into what happened with her and Evan. It was possible that they were just hitting a little rough patch. It was normal for people to have these thoughts before committing to each other forever.

  What wasn’t normal was the busted lip and black eye.

  “I have to ask what happened,” she blurted out.

  “Huh?”

  “Your eye. Your lip. What happened?”

  “Oh…” Brighton ran a thumb over his lip, thoughtfully. Riley tried to interpret his expressions, read his thoughts. She couldn’t outright ask if Sierra had done that to him, but she had to know. “I had a little accident at the studio.”

  “What exactly?”

  “Uh…” He closed his eyes tight, scrambling for an answer. “Ran into a beam.”

  It couldn’t have been more unconvincing. Brighton was not a skilled liar.

  “And it got your eye too?” she asked, knowing she sounded like she was prying now. She could see it on Brighton’s face, surprised that she was pushing for so many answers.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  The waitress returned with Riley’s drink. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, feeling the condensation build up again her skin. Riley stayed frozen there, not sure where to take the conversation next. Not when she had made it clear what she was implying.

  “This was my own fault,” Brighton finally said. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Only because I’m genuin
ely worried,” Riley replied. Her voice cracked, and it was then that she realized she was crying. The stress of everything had compounded, breaking her in that moment.

  “No, stop, don’t be,” he said, reaching across the table to pry her hand off her drink. He intertwined his fingers with hers until they were palm to palm. “Everything is fine. I know Evan has really thrown things off for you and I really appreciate you looking out for me. But I promise you it’s not like that. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she nodded. Riley wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but for the sake of her sanity, she chose to.

  “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking,” Brighton continued. “Things are going to go as planned, the wedding is still going to happen, everything will smooth out soon.”

  “I hate that I’m making you comfort me,” Riley laughed through her tears. “I feel so emotionally sloppy. Like I’m running around begging for consolation all the time. No wonder everyone sees me as tiny and defenseless. I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

  “You’ve been through more these past few weeks than most people go through in a lifetime,” Brighton said. “I think you’re allowed to look for consolation outside of yourself. And I’m happy to provide it.” Riley peered up at him through her lashes, touched by his genuine kindness. She thought about how she had bonded with him first, before Sierra. How they were able to talk in that free-flowing manner that she loved.

  She thought about telling him everything. About what she suspected. About the man that was following her.

  But she didn’t want him to think she was crazy.

  So she changed the subject.

  “Did you guys cross some things off the wedding checklist while I’ve been missing in action?” Riley asked. “I’ll be back on task as soon as I get back to the office next week, I promise.”

  “We’re still refining the guest list,” Brighton replied. “And I think Sierra said she got the dress altered a little but that it didn’t take much since she pretty much fit it off the rack.”

  “I was there when she tried it on,” Riley said. “It didn’t look like she’d need alterations at all.” She thought about the princess that Sierra appeared to be that day. Riley wondered if it was possible that she could be capable of violence.

  “What’s the dress look like?”

  “Oh, I can’t share that without her permission.”

  “Why not?”

  “Isn’t it bad luck or something?”

  “Only if I see it. Not if I know what it looks like.”

  “Ugh, fine,” Riley laughed. She knew Sierra probably didn’t want her to share the details with Brighton, but this seemed like the pick-me-up that Brighton needed. A little secret between Riley and Brighton to bond them, but one that would liken Brighton’s thoughts of Sierra to something more positive – their upcoming wedding.

  “Tell me.” A mischievous smile crept across his face. His handsome, boy-next-door features looked different in the dark lighting, especially now that it had been a bit roughed up. Riley took a quick sip of her cocktail, furrowing her brows over her observation.

  “Okay. So. It’s a strapless gown with a structured sweetheart neckline. And it’s tea-length, A-line skirt. It’s simple but gorgeous,” Riley said, imagining the beautiful dress again. Brighton’s eyebrows were raised, like he was happy to know now, but was still somehow confused. “None of those words meant anything to you just now, did it?”

  “Yeah I have no idea what that means,” Brighton replied, laughing. He seemed to perk up now, sitting up a bit in his chair as he drank from his own cocktail. “In layman’s terms?”

  “Strapless means without straps…”

  “Okay, that much I figured out.”

  “Sweetheart neckline, is, you know,” Riley drew a heart over her own chest. Brighton looked down at the motion. His eyes lingered for a moment before looking back up again. Riley blushed. She cleared her throat before continuing. “A-line skirt means that it flares out like an A. And tea-length means it’s a little shorter.”

  “That sounds like something she’d pick,” Brighton said. “Although to be honest, I thought she was going to get a gown that looked like Vanessa’s, you know, the sea witch lady? Ursula’s alter ego that tries to marry Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid? Have you seen that?”

  “Yes!” Riley laughed. “It’s my favorite Disney movie, which apparently is no longer the popular choice.”

  “It’s Sierra’s favorite movie,” Brighton said. “Like of all-time, I think.”

  “Favorite, favorite or just favorite Disney?”

  “Favorite favorite, I’m pretty sure,” Brighton replied. “It means a lot to her.”

  “She mentioned that,” Riley said. “That to her it was about belonging and rebirth and all that.”

  “And also, you know, I don’t know how much she told you. But she was homeless for a little bit as a teenager,” Brighton explained. Riley’s smile dropped. What on earth? She had not mentioned that. Only that she had crappy parents. How awful. “There was one night where she couldn’t find a place to stay and she just wanted somewhere safe to close her eyes. So she snuck into a theatre for a showing of Little Mermaid. She chose a ‘stupid kid’s movie’ so she wouldn’t be interested in watching and would just go to sleep. But she ended up loving it.”

  “How could she not?” Riley asked, wistfully. She imagined young Sierra sitting alone in that dark theatre, watching this fantastical story unfold in front of her. But then something struck her. “Wait, how old did you say she was?”

  “She said she was sixteen when this happened.”

  Riley tried to do the math in her head. If Sierra was thirty-five, that made her six when that movie came out.

  “That doesn’t add up,” Riley said.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “Sierra wasn’t a teenager when the movie first came out.”

  “She didn’t say she saw it when it first came out,” Brighton shrugged. “It was probably one of those special showings or something.”

  The waitress returned, eyeing Brighton’s empty glass.

  “Would you like another drink, sir?” she asked him.

  “Sure,” he replied, looking up at her for the first time. Riley watched as the waitress beamed, tossing her flaxen hair over her shoulder. It was clear she was attracted to Brighton by the way she looked at him.

  Riley couldn’t blame her. She knew Brighton was attractive. And he was more so when he was himself and not under Sierra’s thumb. She watched as the server wrapped a hand around Brighton’s strong shoulder, leaning in to look at the menu with him, directing him to sections of the menu where she thought he should choose his next drink, letting her beautiful glossy hair dip down onto the back of Brighton’s neck.

  A tiny hint of jealousy suddenly hit Riley.

  She reasoned that it was for Sierra. That she felt defensive for her friend that a woman was touching her fiancé in this manner.

  But Riley knew that wasn’t it.

  Riley felt insulted that this waitress felt no qualms about flirting with Brighton in front of her. It didn’t mean that she was interested in Brighton or that she was laying any claim on him. She just didn’t like the show of disrespect. She didn’t like being overlooked and ignored as she often was.

  She blinked.

  The fury had collected so quickly that she felt embarrassed, even when no one knew her thoughts. She had begun her night angry that someone was watching her, and now angry that she was being disregarded? Had she gone insane?

  It seemed like a particularly strange thing to think when she realized that Brighton’s attention had been on her wholly as she let her mind wander. He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. But it didn’t feel unsettling. Though she thought it should.

  Riley sipped from her drink, trying to distract herself from the strange sensation of being actively watched. She didn’t have anything to say to break the silence. Nor did Brighton. The cocktail only drew his attention to h
er lips. Riley noticed him wetting his own as he continued to gaze at her.

  Am I imagining this?

  She cleared her throat, trying to make herself look bigger – more masculine. She spread her arms out around the armchair she sat in. Riley would have manspreaded in that moment if she wasn’t wearing a mid-thigh tank dress. She was suddenly desperate to look…not like someone Brighton should be looking at that way.

  The waitress returned quickly with Brighton’s drink. It looked like something with whiskey. She explained its contents to Brighton, drawing his eyes away from Riley – finally. Riley watched as the waitress found every excuse to put her hands on him as she went on and on about a cocktail that only had five ingredients. What more was there to say really? Why wouldn’t she back off? Her behavior was damn near predatory.

  The possessiveness had returned.

  She felt oddly protective of Brighton. She felt like he needed to be saved. The way she had needed to be saved from everything she was in now. She couldn’t do anything about Sierra, but she could do something about this waitress. This waitress that somehow thought it was appropriate to touch Brighton’s hair.

  “Excuse me,” Riley blurted out. The waitress froze, looking in her direction. Riley immediately doubted the interruption. Was she wrong to say something? Was she wrong to suspect something was going on? Was she now one of the many women in Brighton’s life who insisted on calling the shots for him?

  “Yes?” The waitress stood up straight now, removing her hand from Brighton’s hair. She knew what she had done, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

  “If you don’t mind, I was hoping to continue our conversation here,” Riley said, icily. She wondered where this assertiveness had come from. Or was it aggressiveness? Had she skipped assertiveness altogether? Is this what weeks of fear, anger, and frustration created in her?

  “Oh, of course, sorry,” she replied, waving a hand as she walked off. Brighton turned to her, smirking. Knowing.

  “My hero,” he laughed, taking a long sip from his new drink.