“AND THEN MY FAMILY moved to St Catharines, and we spent a lot of weekends visiting Niagara Falls.”
Bryan sipped at his lemonade. I’d offered him a drink, hoping to put him in a mood where he’d consider letting me go. So far, it hadn’t worked. Maybe he would talk himself to death.
Not funny, brain.
Except in any other situation, it would be funny. Bryan had been more than happy to tell me all about his family: his father’s work at the steel mill in Hamilton; his mother’s life as a dilettante socialite; his sister’s experiences in a commune out west somewhere. He also continued to call me by my first name, repeatedly. I would have been happy to never hear the word ‘Ashlyn’ again as long as I lived. Which might not be long, at this rate.
He’d tried to kiss me on the sofa, but I told him I didn’t know him well enough. So I’d asked him about his family, and now, here we were.
“Can I refill your drink, Bryan?”
He smiled at me. We were still on the couch; he was still too close for comfort.
“That would be nice. Thank you, Ashlyn.”
As I expected, he followed me into the kitchen. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked. “She must be wondering where you are.”
He frowned as I pulled out the lemonade. “You’re my girlfriend, Ashlyn.” He ran his fingers over the knives in the block I kept on the counter. “There’s no one but you.”
I don’t know how I kept my voice so steady.
“That’s very sweet, Bryan,” I said, filling his glass. I smiled as best I could. “But we hardly know each other.”
His look grew darker. He had brown eyes; I’d noticed that when we were on the sofa. Not like Marsha’s, with gold flecks in them. They were solid brown, his pupils almost blending in with the irises.
His eyes scared me.
“Of course we know each other, Ashlyn,” he said, as I put the lemonade back in the fridge. I closed the door and leaned against it as he approached me. “You know how to spell my name.” He smiled, but it was cold. “Nobody else spells it right.”
I was wishing I had never even heard his name.
“Your name is so pretty, Ashlyn.” He touched my face, and I did my best not to flinch. “We both have a ‘y’ in our names. That’s what they call ‘kismet’.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “It’s certainly a strange coincidence, isn’t it?” I said.
He frowned again. “It’s not a coincidence, Ashlyn. It’s fate.” He stepped a little closer. I shrank against the fridge. “We’re fated to be together, Ashlyn.”
He leaned in to kiss me when there was a knock at the door. He turned his head sharply.
“Who are you expecting, Ashlyn?”
“No one,” I whispered.
Bryan grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. He dragged me over to the sink and took the chef’s knife from the block. “Let’s go see who it is, Ashlyn.” He pulled me along, out of the kitchen towards the front hall. Still holding me, he peered through the spyhole in the door. He growled.
“It’s that movie star,” he said, shaking me. “Did you tell him to come over?”
Corey? What was Corey doing here?
I shook my head, my eyes wide. “He should be at work.”
Bryan snarled. “Well he’s not. He’s standing right there.”
Corey knocked again. “Ashlyn?”
I’d been wrong. I did want to hear my name. My stomach twisted into knots.
“Tell him to go away, Ashlyn.” Bryan pushed his face towards mine. “Tell him you’re sick.”
I was shaking again. I pressed my forehead to the door and did my best to keep the tremor from my voice.
“Go away, Corey,” I said, glancing at Bryan. He nodded. “I’m... I’m really sick.”
“Ashlyn, let me in.”
Bryan squeezed my arm, and I yelped.
“Ashlyn!?”
The door shook. I stared at it in horror. Bryan dragged me into the living room.
The door shook again, rippling in its hinges. A dent appeared near the handle. Bryan held the knife to my throat, and I drew a sharp breath.
The door burst inward. Corey was standing there, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. I felt the tip of the knife against my neck.
“Well. If it isn’t Mr Corey Knox.” Bryan sneered. “Mr Hollywood, himself.”
Corey stepped into the apartment as the door swung loosely on its hinges. Bryan’s hand tightened around my arm, and I winced.
“Ashlyn.” Corey’s eyes found mine. His were calm; almost smiling. “Are you all right, angel?”
I nodded shakily.
“She’s just fine, Mr Hollywood,” Bryan said. He pressed the knife a little closer, and I flinched. “She doesn’t want you here.”
Corey smiled faintly. His gaze shifted to Bryan.
“Why don’t you let her tell me herself, Bryan?” His tone was smooth and even.
Bryan shook me. “Tell him, Ashlyn,” he snapped. “Tell him you’re my girl.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Corey raised both eyebrows. “She can’t talk with a knife at her throat, Bryan.” He took another step towards us, his eyes on mine. “You wouldn’t want to hurt the woman you love, would you?”
I stared at Corey. My heart beat faster, but it wasn’t from fear.
Bryan lifted the knife away from my neck and held it out, pointing it at Corey. “Don’t come any closer, Mr Hollywood.”
Corey shifted to the side. He took another step.
“Why don’t you try it, Bryan,” he said. He smirked. “Or are you too much of a pussy?”
Bryan growled. He flexed his fingers, the blade glinting in the mid-morning light. “I’ve got the knife, Mr Hollywood.”
Corey chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve got a knife, big man. Think you can cut me before I tear your fucking arm off?”
I suddenly understood what he was doing. I could feel my heart pounding, trying to escape my chest.
Corey, no. He’ll kill you.
Bryan snorted. “I’ll do more than cut you.” He flipped the knife over in his hand. The blade flashed. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Corey grinned. “Come on, then, you little fucker.” He held out his hand, palm tilted up, and curled his fingers. “Put up or shut up.”
Bryan snarled and pushed me away, leaping at Corey with the knife. Corey dropped to his knees, grabbed Bryan’s leg, and pulled upwards. Bryan fell to the floor on his back, and I heard the thump as his head head the floor. The knife flashed. Corey’s hands were around Bryan’s arm, slamming it into the floor – once, twice – and the knife went flying down the hall.
“I’ll kill you, you piece of shit!” Corey pounded his fist into Bryan’s face. Something crunched, and there was blood everywhere. “Don’t you ever fucking take what’s mine!” Another punch to the face. Bryan’s cheek caved in.
“Corey, no!” I ran to them, trying to grab Corey’s arm. I wasn’t fast enough. Another blow. Bryan groaned. I don’t know how he was still conscious.
“Corey.” A dark, gravelly voice.
I looked up. Mel was in the doorway, like a huge, dark shadow. He moved faster than I could follow, pulling Corey off Bryan’s prostrate form. I stumbled backwards, into the living room, the back of the sofa pressing against my legs.
“Let go, Mel.” Corey struggled against Mel’s grip. “I’ll kill the fucker.”
“Corey,” he said again. His voice was calm. “Ashlyn needs you.”
Corey turned to me. I stared at him, my eyes wide. There was blood on his knuckles, bright against his warm, tanned skin. He stepped towards me.
“Ashlyn.” He looked down at his hands, then wiped them off on his jeans. Red stained his clothes. My whole body started shaking. He caught me in his arms an instant before I collapsed. “Ashlyn.” His voice, whispered into my hair. My name again. I’d never get tired of hearing my name on his lips.
I heard footsteps pounding along the hall. Someone in blue skidded to a halt in front of my shattered front door, but I couldn’t see any details through my tears.