Chapter 2
TWO
It’s nearlynine o’clock by the time I get back into town from my afternoon trip to Durham. After several back-and-forth trips over the past few days tying up loose ends, I’ve become exhausted, not to mention overworked from trying to keep up with the free therapy consultations.
Helping patients gain trust with a new therapist is anything but easy. It takes time—sometimes months—to build that relationship. All I can do is hope that some of Jenkins Douglas Wright’s clients will at least give me that chance.
I frown, thinking of a certain someone from earlier this week who most certainly won’t. Evie Vaughn, with her wavy blonde hair, perfect fair skin, big blue doe eyes, and undeniable beauty. The one who couldn’t run away fast enough.
Her rejection stings extra-deep knowing that she had been a patient of Wright’s for twelve years. I couldn’t even get her to stay five minutes.
Sighing, I make my way up the steps and turn over my wrist to glance at my watch. Eight-thirty. I’m too late for bedtime. There’s an ache in my chest as I turn the doorknob and twist to push it open.
Francine is sitting in a chair in the great room near the front window, my sleeping daughter in her arms. They’ve probably been there for a while, waiting for me to come home.
“Shhh,” Francine warns quietly as I walk toward her.
Every ounce of stress from the past week melts away at the sight of Lucy. Instinct takes over as I reach out to hold her. Lucy moves steadily from her grandmother’s arms to mine without waking up, and just like that, my little girl pulls my immediate focus. With her, I’m centered, alert, and present in all the best ways. Nothing else matters.
It’s just like how it felt the first day I got to hold her. Nothing had ever made me feel so complete. My life finally had purpose, and maybe, just maybe, I did one small, good deed in the world to deserve it.
I take in the sight of my almost-four-year-old. Her blonde hair is a nest of tangled ringlets, her mouth hangs open as she sleeps, and she wears her favorite pink Barbie pajama set.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I whisper, bringing my nose to her tanned cheek. Clearly, she’ll only continue to get more adorable by the second. “Daddy missed you today.”
“She missed you, too, Lincoln,” Francine says gently.
As grateful as I am that Lucy’s grandmother agreed to move to Bryson City with us, her presence in our lives doesn’t alleviate the guilt that consumes me knowing that I can never bring Lucy’s mother, Francine’s daughter, back. It’s just Lucy and me—and Francine, for as long as she decides to stick around.
My chest aches. “I should have been here to put her to bed.”
Francine tilts her head, looking sympathetic. “It’s one night. Don’t beat yourself up. Lucy is lucky to have a father who cares so deeply. You have a great job in a small, beautiful city, and you found the perfect rental with more than enough room for all of us.”
“I know.” The words come out with a sigh. No matter what I do, it never feels like enough. I can’t steal back lost time. Unfortunately, I’ve had to learn that lesson the hardest way possible.
Between getting the offer to work at Calm Waters, moving Lucy and me out of our old house, and Francine from her townhome in Durham, to then settling into my new office here, I haven’t had a chance to stop and breathe. That all changes now.
“Speaking of this rental,” I tell Francine, more than ready to change the subject, “I have a few more loose ends to tie up with my landlord, then we can focus on settling in.” I know I’m not the only one sick of living amongst stacks of boxes.
Francine nods. “Good. And how’s work going? You winning ’em over with each consultation?”
It’s hard not to smile at Francine’s faithful words. She knows the pride I put into my work and how I feel about the people I get to help. Just knowing I have someone on my side, believing in me and supporting me through so much change, is something to marvel over.
“Ah, I don’t know.” I shrug. “Time will tell, I guess.”
I rock Lucy for a few more minutes before walking her to the only decorated room in the house. After laying her down in her bed, I sit on the floor beside her and adjust the blue-and-pink blankets that match the painted closet door.
My heart melts just looking at her. Loving Lucy has been the easiest thing in the world compared to the shit I’ve been through in my life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Not a single thing. The proof of that is in the fact that I’m here right now, in the one town I swore I would never return to.
My phone lets out a loud ding, and I quickly mute it before checking to make sure Lucy is still fast asleep. She is, of course—when my girl is out for the night, she’s out for exactly twelve hours like clockwork.
I look back down at the screen to find a message from my landlord.
Patrick: Still swinging by tonight?
Fuck.The curse word rings loudly in my head. I pick myself off the floor and step out of Lucy’s room. Leaving the door open just a crack, I walk back into the kitchen.
“Have you eaten?” Francine asks as soon as she sees me. She knows me so well.
“Not in a while, but I forgot I need to run back to Main Street. The landlord has some stuff for us—extra keys for the house and shed in the back, and an extra garage door opener for you. I guess he’s leaving town for a couple of months, so tonight is my last chance to grab it.”
Francine narrows her eyes and gestures for me to sit down. “Eat first. I made lasagna.”
As much as I want to get this final meeting with my landlord over with, I can’t deny Francine or my rumbling stomach. I shoot Patrick a quick response.
Lincoln: Be there soon.
After shoveling down my food, I head back into the night, feeling comforted by the knowledge that this trip will take no time at all. Soon, I’ll be home and in bed, ready for the full night’s sleep I desperately need.
The green-and-blue neon sign reads Firefly when I pass the bar to find a place to park. The last time I parked near this place, I was getting pulled over. That asshole cop, Officer Gabe, cited me for speeding, saying I was doing thirty in a fifteen. He wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t seen any speed limit signs. I profusely apologized, but it didn’t matter. The guy had something to prove and an ego to inflate.
I find a spot in the small parking lot behind the bar then follow the sidewalk around the building. The open entrance sits below the buzzing neon sign on Main Street. Before I even step a foot inside, I spot the wall-to-wall bookshelves on both floors of the main room. If I hadn’t seen the long bar on the wall across from the door, I would have thought I’d just stepped into an upscale private library. The ones that don’t bother with alphabetized labels on the spines because everything is a first edition. The ones that add value the more dust they collect. The ones that feel more like a museum than an actual library.
Walking into the space, I’m even more in awe, looking at the red-leather seating, the oversized chairs in front of a grand fireplace surrounded by shelves of books, long red-oak tables, and a spiral aluminum staircase that reaches a second floor of more books. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.
Well, maybe I have. But not with a bar sitting prominently across the back wall.
“Lincoln,” a voice calls.
Turning toward the back of the bar, I see my landlord, Patrick, waving as he heads in my direction. He’s wearing an apron and a black shirt that promotes the name of the establishment along with the year 2011. Given the fact that the man also has a well-established real estate portfolio, I’m going to assume he owns this place too.
Patrick smiles as he closes in and holds out his fist.
I bump it with mine. “Hey there, Patrick. Cool bar name.”
Patrick grins proudly. “Got the idea from my niece, actually. She was eight when she saw her first firefly and became obsessed. I bought this place the same year.”
Unease spreads through me. With what I know about this town, the bar name is a strange one for the history attached to it. Everyone has heard about the Firefly Man, the serial murderer rumored to find his victims at campgrounds in the Smoky Mountains, especially those who disturb the peace of the fireflies during mating season. While the moniker stems from an old campfire tale rather than having anything to do with the actual motivation behind the killings, one would think the name would carry more weight in this area.
I nod and let myself scan the two-story structure again, genuinely impressed with its design. “At first, I thought maybe the name had something to do with that girl dying years ago.”
Patrick’s entire body seems to sag. “In a way, it does. We decided to keep the name after that incident. My niece insisted on it to honor those who have passed. ‘As long as that neon sign is lit, their lights will never die.’ That’s how she likes to put it.”
When I settle my focus back on him, I manage a smile. The sentiment is sweet but isn’t one I want to dwell on. “Thanks again for the rental. It’s a great piece of property. The guesthouse is perfect for us too.”
Patrick nods, appearing pleased. “I know it’s not right to have favorites, but you definitely scored the best of my rentals. I lived in that one for ten years until I was finally ready to downsize but had a tough time letting it go.”
I tilt my head, curious. “Why did you?”
He shrugs. “Too big for me now. My niece doesn’t live with us anymore and my ex-partner just left me, so setting off to do some traveling to mend my broken heart.” He clutches his chest dramatically. “Hence, why I’m heading out of town tomorrow.” He slides a large manila envelope across the bar to me. “That should be everything you’ll need while I’m out. Left some phone numbers in there, too, just in case there’s an emergency. My niece can handle anything in my absence.”
Without thinking twice, I pull myself onto the stool and pat the envelope. “Appreciate you pulling this together for me.”
“Not a problem at all. Now,” he says, pointing to a chalkboard of listed drink specials above his head. “What’s your poison?”
“Nah, I don’t need anything. I just want to go home and get to bed. It’s been a long couple of weeks.”
Patrick grins, exposing a perfectly white set of teeth. “Isn’t that why people drink?” He leans forward, eyes confident like he’s not taking no for an answer. “This one’s on me.”
Temptation lures me in. A nice glass of liquor wouldn’t hurt. “All right, you win. Something spicy. Your choice.”
Patrick finds a bottle of Tennessee Fire from the top shelf and pours until the glass is a quarter full then slides it to me. “Give that a try.”
I put the glass to my lips when he walks away to check on other customers. In the same moment he’s leaving the bar, another figure steps into view behind it. The elusive Evelyn Vaughn. I recognize her instantly, if not for that thick mane of blonde hair than for the pout of perfectly pink lips that rests on her naturally downturned mouth.
She wears a red-velvet skirt with a slit up her thigh and a tight graphic tee that ends at the small of her waist, just below her navel. When my eyes slide up to her chest, I look away immediately. Her outfit reminds me of what she wore the day I found her in my office, save for this shirt’s V-neck, which brings my focus exactly where it shouldn’t be.
Fuck me.
It goes against everything in my professional nature to be drawn to one of my potential patients like this. That was never part of the plan. I’m not even sure that it’s all sexual—maybe I was stung by her rejection when she stormed out of my office. There’s just something about her that plays on my curiosity like a bow to a fiddle. I want to know more.
She’s slowly making her way in my direction while scanning the customers at the bar, pulling empty cups and dirty napkins from the counter, and asking each person if there’s anything else they need. She doesn’t even look in my direction until she’s a few feet away.
When she does, she appears frozen with shock. Kind of like how my nerves feel right now.
Evelyn only pauses for a few seconds before she seems to snap out of it and continue her trek toward me. Her eyes slip to my lips, where I’m still holding my glass. “Need another?”
For a moment, I’m confused, until I realize that I’ve already downed my entire drink. I set the glass on the bar and shake my head. “No. I should get going.” I stand, internally screaming at myself to just walk away, but something holds me to the spot. Then I blurt, “I’d like to see you again.”
Her eyes flash wide with surprise, and I can feel my cheeks heat from the recklessness of my words.
“On my couch,” I add stupidly. I’m making it worse, throwing gas on an already blazing fire, and I don’t know how to stop. “Jesus, I just meant…”
She holds up a hand, seemingly unfazed now that the initial shock is over. “I get it, Dr. Re?—”
“Lincoln,” I cut in, reminding her.
“All right, Lincoln. No offense. I’m sure you’re amazing, but I’m not looking for a new therapist. I’m not even sure why I continued seeing J.D. as long as I did.” She shrugs. “Habit, I guess.”
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from launching into a diatribe about how caring for your own mental health doesn’t have an end date and can be beneficial in all phases of life. Instead, I say the only thing that comes to my mind next. “Twelve years is a long time.” I search her stunning blue eyes, hoping to catch any reactions. “I’m sorry about Jenkins.”
There’s a flicker of something I can’t totally identify. Disappointment, sadness, fear? Maybe it’s a subtle combination of the three, and something about it tells me I shouldn’t give up on her.
“If you change your mind, I’d still like to give you that free consultation. No commitments.” I attempt a smile. “After that, you can determine if I’m a good match for you or not. And vice versa.”
She reaches forward and wraps her hand around the glass tumbler. “You said it yourself. Twelve years is a long time. You think you can just read my file and pick up with me where J.D. left off?”
This nugget of hope gets my heart going like a kick drum. “Of course not. We would establish something new. We’d start a new file.”
Evelyn shakes her head like I’ve completely missed the point, and I know that somehow, I have. “It took me a long time to feel comfortable with J.D. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to go back…”
Something about the way the words die on her lips squeezes my heart. “Understood.” It’s a knee-jerk response—fight or flight—because the last thing I want is for her to be upset with me. That would completely dismantle any chance I have of gaining her trust.
I’m just starting to wonder if there’s any chance at all.
I take the envelope from the bar top and push out a smile. “Well, it has been good to see you again, Ms. Vaughn.”
“Evelyn,” she corrects with a stern look.
“That’s right,” I say, delighting in the fact that just the way I say her name gets a little bit under her skin.
As I start to back away, not wanting to leave but knowing I must, Patrick makes his way back in our direction.
“Hey, Lincoln. Before you go.” He slides up behind the bar so he’s directly beside his niece. “I know you said you only needed the house temporarily, but there’s some information in the envelope about renting-to-own, if you’re interested. A portion of your rent would go toward paying down the costs to close. Just think about it and let me know if you’re interested.”
I don’t want to tell him that Bryson City isn’t a place I’ll ever consider home, no matter how great a deal he cuts me. I’m simply here for a job opportunity I couldn’t ignore. It’s all temporary—but just like so much about me and my reasons for being here, no one can ever know.
Instead, I nod. “Thanks, Patrick.”
“No problem,” he says. Evelyn looks between us with obvious confusion but says nothing as Patrick wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I see you’ve already met my niece. Evie here will be looking after things for me while I’m gone. I left her contact information in that envelope, but if you can’t reach her, you know where to find her.” He gestures around the bar with his free hand.
This information feels like an unexpected treasure. Smiling for real, I back farther away from the bar, my eyes landing on Evelyn’s. “Then I guess I’ll be in touch… Evie.”
She pins me with a glare that leaves me with a sick sense of satisfaction before I turn around and exit the bar.