Chapter 9
NINE
I’m notoblivious to the attention Lincoln gives my body as we wade into the water then climb into our tubes. I didn’t exactly choose the most family-friendly attire for the day—not that I own any other options. In all fairness, I thought I was going to be sunbathing by the creek with a good book in my hand, but Lincoln Reed changed my plans, although I won’t dare tell him that.
Still, I would never have agreed to float down Deep Creek if it weren’t for the small glimmer of hope that he would come too.
Once we’re both secured in our tubes, we let the slow current take us around the bend. I’m in no hurry to catch up with the rest of the group, so I resist paddling at all, content to drift in the calmer waters. Our speed will pick up once we get to the rockier sections that’ll take us down and around the campground, so for now, I lie back, relax, and enjoy the view.
Lincoln follows my lead and lounges with his hands behind his head, arm muscles flexed and revealing his thick biceps. Clearly, the man has an entire fitness routine that includes more than just taking morning runs, which is obvious from his sculpted chest and abs. Even his muscular thighs look like they could squash a big juicy watermelon.
“Tell me about your best friends,” he says. “They seem like a lot of fun.”
I assume he’s referencing Armando, Janessa, and the gang. “I wouldn’t call them my best friends.” The words come out carefully. I don’t mean any disrespect. “We’re friends, but they’re also my co-workers. I’m their bar manager. I’ve known most of them for a long time and I do care about them—hence, me shutting down the bar to stop by and wish Armando a happy birthday.” I sense that more questions will follow, so I try to get ahead of them. “I’ve just never formed deeper relationships with them.”
He turns his head to look at me, though sunglasses cover his green eyes. “Really? I thought establishments like Firefly encourage close friendships.”
“There’s no rule against it,” I admit. “But I’m still the owner’s niece, and one day Patrick will hand the bar completely over to me. I just think drawing the line between manager and co-worker is safer.”
“Safer.” Lincoln repeats the word thoughtfully. “But you came to the birthday party today. How is that safe but forming a deeper friendship isn’t?”
I squirm a little in my tube, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m not heartless, Lincoln, but I set boundaries. I brought a gift and was only planning to stay a short time.”
Heat that crawls up my neck much the same way my defenses have shot up like a rocket. I was okay talking about my parents and even part of the reason why I ended up here under Patrick’s care—and J.D.’s—but talking about friendships crosses into territory I don’t like to step into. With anyone.
Just as I begin thinking of ways to end the conversation, the first familiar sign of Deep Creek Campground comes into view—a small wooden deck and a rope swing, upgraded from the one I’d been on hundreds of times as a kid. And then come the waterfront tent sites.
My stomach knots as my mind begins to replay images from my childhood. Every familiar landmark triggers new memories, some older than others, but the haunting ones include Carley and the fast friendship we’d made in that short week. The way we clicked like we’d known each other our whole lives was something I had never experienced before. I felt… happy when I was with her.
“Evie, what’s wrong?”
Lincoln’s voice comes through faintly compared to the vivid memories. Roasting s’mores. Running from one side of the creek to the next. Skipping rocks. Guitars and off-tune vocalists, tree swings, hide-and-seek, fishing, canoe races.
The list goes on and on and on. My chest is heavy with sadness, and the ache only intensifies as we clear the campsites and reach the thicket of woods where our firefly chasing began. Guilt follows in its wake, telling me I should have stayed close to Carley that night. And I should have never let Foster go off to find her alone either.
Fear paralyzed me on that damn trail like a deer in headlights—until it was too late. Until Carley was dead and her brother was arrested. After that, the rest of my teenage years ended up in complete shambles.
My tube stops at the same time the site of Carley’s murder comes into view—a small inlet to the lake paved with tiny rocks from the shore. Just beyond it is where we found her dead. I kick my feet to get my tube moving again, but I’m stuck for some reason.
Panic rips through my body, a guttural cry erupting from deep within as I struggle against the unknown force.
“Evie, stop!”
That voice—deep and familiar—snaps me back to the present. I whip my head to find its source, locking eyes with Lincoln. Relief floods my body, whoosh, and suddenly, for the first time in fourteen years, I feel safe.
There’s no explanation for it. Lincoln hasn’t done anything, yet, to deserve such a place in my breakthrough.
“Are you okay?” He grips his tube with one hand while his other hand secures mine in place, locking me to this spot like a prisoner.
“No,” I finally say, wiggling my tube to get him to release it. “I… I thought I was caught on something.”
His forehead dents in the middle as if he’s confused, then he follows my gaze over his shoulder to the dreaded spot of my friend’s murder. If I didn’t know better, I might think Lincoln knows exactly why I desperately need to get away.
He releases my tube instantly and even gives me a little push in the right direction, then he flips over on his tube so he can breaststroke toward me, catching up in no time.
My next deep breath comes as soon as we round the next bend, when a waterfall comes into view. Dozens of colored tubes lay discarded on nearby rocks or float in the pool of calm water. I dare a glance at Lincoln, but he seems to be caught up in his own thoughts, probably ones of deep regret for following me down this creek.
“I’m going to stop here,” I say. “You can keep going, if you want.”
There, I gave him an out, one he’ll surely take after my freak-out.
But the look he gives me now is one of utter disbelief. “What? No, I’ll stop here too.”
Still embarrassed, I launch myself into the water and swim the rest of the way to shore, haul my tube out to the nearest rock, and sit beside it. Lincoln is right behind me, following my every move.
In silence, we watch people swim as close as they can to the falls, laughing and chatting as they go. It’s oddly peaceful here, even among the herd of people sharing the community waters. As much as I can, I bask in the simplicity of it all.
“Hey,” Lincoln rasps, his voice gentle but enough to get my attention.
I turn to stare into his apologetic eyes.
“Whatever happened back there,” he says. “Whatever I did. I’m so sorry.”
My body shudders out a sigh, and suddenly I’m overcome with the need to make sure he’s okay. “You didn’t do anything, Lincoln. I just… freaked out.”
His gaze searches mine. “Can I ask why?”
This is where I should say no. This is where I should enforce the line I’ve been so good at drawing all these years. I don’t talk about Carley. What happened to her was a lifetime ago, and while I will never forget those gruesome details, I certainly don’t need to remind the town of it.
Instead, I tell him, “I don’t like to go back there.”
He squints like he’s truly puzzled. “Back where?”
“To the campground. Something terrible happened there years ago, when I was a teen. Anyway, passing by that spot was hard enough, but when you stopped my tube…”
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, his ashen expression convincing me his contrition is genuine. “I only stopped you to make sure you were okay. You went pale, and it seemed like you couldn’t hear a word I was saying.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, um, Patrick and I used to go camping out there all the time. The last time we were there, a girl was murdered.” My eyes shift back to his, feeling peace in his gaze. “She was my friend, and…”
A rough, calloused hand covers mine, causing me to take a deep breath that seems to reach every tense muscle in my body. I clear my throat and open my mouth, not sure what is about to come out. I never had to explain the details to J.D. during our therapy sessions. He was there that night too. He knew the details as well as anyone.
“I didn’t see… the act… but I was one of the ones to find her after it happened. And she…” I immediately begin to tremble, and even Lincoln squeezing my hand doesn’t quell my nerves this time.
“You don’t need to explain if you don’t want to, Evie.”
I suck in a fortifying breath anyway. “It all happened so fast. I heard her scream, and I just knew something terrible was happening, but… we couldn’t get to her fast enough.”
Lincoln scoots toward me on the rock, his arm sliding around my body until I’m wrapped in a firm, warm hug. “We?” he asks gently.
Our eyes connect again, and I swear the color of his irises matches the wooded environment behind him, mossy green with speckles of gold-like glints from the sun. Those eyes are hypnotic—or at least, they steady me in a way I’ve never felt before.
“The girl who died, Carley, had an older brother.” I debate using his name. It’s not like that really matters, but somehow it feels important. “Foster. He was with me when we found her.”
Lincoln blinks and takes in a long breath. “You’re talking about the Firefly Man murder.” His brow crinkles as he searches my eyes. “The first one.”
The blood seems to drain from my face in utter shock. “You know about it?”
He nods, looking disturbed. “All too well. They made us study all that shit in my criminology class. The Firefly Man has his own section in the Serial Murder handbook. That was one of our course texts.” He pauses. “Anyway, I figured everyone in the Appalachians knew the story. I even talked to your uncle about it a little bit because of the name of your bar.”
My mouth forms an O, as I already know why that topic would have come up. “Fireflies have always been my favorite creatures. They were Carley’s too. I refuse to let a psychotic freak change that. So I took back the word. People can call him the Firefly Man all they want, but that won’t change the fact that Carley’s light will never die. I won’t let it.”
He gives my shoulders a squeeze. “That’s beautiful. I’ll bet Carley would love that sentiment.”
My heart swells at the emotion behind his words. “I hope so.”
Silence passes between us for a few more beats until Lincoln lets out another sigh. “It’s awful that the killer is still out there after all these years.”
My mouth opens on a sharp breath. “And to think they all thought Foster did it.”
Lincoln’s hold tightens slightly. “They?”
“The cops at first, but rumors spread throughout the town and even beyond.” I stare off into the distance, seeing nothing save for the blue and red lights that bounced around the darkness that night for what seemed like hours while Patrick held my shivering body close. “They took Foster and interrogated him. They even threw him behind bars for months—said he had all kinds of DNA all over him. Her hair, her blood.” I shiver as my eyes pool with tears. “Her blood was all over his clothes and on his skin from holding her body, trying to wake her.” I wipe a tear from my cheek. “He had just found his sister bludgeoned—what did they expect?”
Lincoln’s mouth presses against my cheek, and his other arm wraps around me. He’s so much closer. “You don’t need to do this now. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I raise my head to face him, angered by the insinuation that there will ever be an “okay” time. “And when would a better time be? When I’m in your office?” My eyes narrow. “On your couch?”
His arms fall away, but he doesn’t put any distance between us. Instead, he glares right back at me. “What the fuck, Evie?”
Guilt instantly crowds my chest. Yeah, what the fuck, Evie? “I’m sorry.” Every ounce of my being feels apologetic for something I don’t even understand. “I wasn’t trying to snap at you. I just don’t want anyone else to be burdened with what I’ve been through.”
His expression immediately relaxes, and what I see next recharges me completely. “I think you forget what I do for a living.”
The bad-timed joke makes me smile, and my face heats. “Clearly not, since I just referred to your couch.”
He shifts so he’s facing me, his hands inappropriate, but not at all unwelcome, on my thighs. “I could never feel burdened by anything you have to say. This is difficult for you. I can see that. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured.”
I mirror his movement, facing him and trying not to feel the buzz of electricity between us as his hands shift, one on each leg. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I haven’t talked about any of this to anyone for a very long time. I’ve just kind of bottled it up in my own firefly jar, trying to keep Carley’s memory alive while suffering through the loss of her. Sometimes, it’s hard to breathe.” I can hardly believe the words even as I say them.
“Maybe it’s time to open the jar.”
I cringe at the implications behind his words. “I don’t know if I can. Not until her killer is found.”
He frowns. “What did Jenkins say about all this? And your friends who were with you that night?”
I hesitate to explain the reasons behind our silence, especially mine. “J.D. and I never talked about that night specifically. He was there, too, so it’s not like he needed the gritty details.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows bunch together. “You never talked about what happened that night? Even if he was there, it was a significant time in your life. It altered your future, your relationship with your parents, your view on friendships.”
I lean back to squint at him, wondering why he stopped there when I could list off a few dozen other ways that night changed my life. “We might not have rehashed those events, but he helped me learn how to deal with my insomnia and the nightmares. His job as my therapist was to help me stop carrying the weight of the tragedy, to not rehash it all. He gave me a safe space to just… breathe.”
Lincoln stays quiet for another beat. “What did your parents think of what happened that night?”
I shudder at the memory of how cruel they were when I got home, like I was the one who’d killed somebody. Turned out, they were afraid for their reputations and what would happen when their friends found out that I was there that night.
“My parents.” I laugh a little. “They didn’t care to hear any of it. They wouldn’t even let me go visit Foster in jail.”
Lincoln’s frown deepens. “That’s awful, Evie. I’m so sorry. That had to have been rough.”
I shake my head, feeling numb inside. “Honestly, I can’t remember how it made me feel. There’s a lot about that night and the events afterward that I just don’t remember.”
Lincoln nods. “Sometimes we subconsciously suppress memories that are harmful to our psyche. It’s possible you were so hurt by your parents’ reaction—and anything else around that time—that you just blocked it out.” He chews on his bottom lip like he’s debating something internally. “That’s not entirely healthy in the long run, but I understand that everyone needs to cope with tragedy differently.”
What he’s saying makes absolutely no sense to me. “Why would I want to remember any of that?” I grimace. “I remember enough as it is.”
Lincoln’s eyes squeeze shut, then he opens them again with full attention on me. “I understand. It’s just… Not talking about the trauma that changed your entire life can be dangerous, Evie. If you’re not dealing with it, you’re just suppressing it.”
“Lincoln…” I pause, not sure how to get through this conversation without exposing the absolute worst sides of myself. “When I first saw J.D., I’d been dealing with that night for two years all on my own. My nightmares were constant, my anxious thoughts debilitating. I thought about every moment of that night on repeat. I wanted to suppress it.” It’s the truth.
Lincoln appears to consider my words then nods slowly. “I understand.”
I take a deep breath, waiting for him to say more. When he doesn’t, I realize exactly why he went quiet and ask, “How would you have approached it if you were my therapist back then?”
“Without going through it all with you, I can’t quite be sure,” he says. “What I can tell you is what I believe in, which is while therapy is a tool—a helping hand through life—trauma complicates that. I strongly feel that trauma should never be ignored or suppressed. You might have built a strategy to cope for a long period of time, but trauma is like water building up against the dam. One day, you might get triggered and explode.”
My heart has begun beating fast. Suddenly, I’m questioning the last twelve years of my life. It’s no secret, even to myself, that I live on a routine. Nothing new, nothing too exciting. I’m just… living. Surviving. I guess I always thought that was the most important part.
Until the day Lincoln Reed came into my life.
“Then again,” he says, and I can already feel him backtracking, “if what Jenkins did for you helped you heal in any way, then it was the right thing to do.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I say nothing.
Lincoln looks toward the water and leans back onto his elbows, letting silence linger between us for an oddly comfortable minute. “No wonder you reacted like that when we passed that place,” he murmurs. “I’m surprised you can go near there at all.”
I sigh. “I chose to live here with Uncle Patrick. But living here meant facing the constant memories of losing Carley. I had to make a choice to accept that. I had to learn how to deal with the pain as it came. I had a difficult time at first, seeing as no one can exactly escape Deep Creek when living here, but I think I’ve managed it pretty well.”
Lincoln looks at me again, this time with eyes that express so many things. Compassion, sympathy, pride, sadness. It’s a storm that reflects my own feelings, and I don’t understand how someone who’s known me for no time at all can see me so clearly.
“I’m sorry for putting all that on you.” My chest tightens as I wonder if, even with how understanding he’s been, my story has been too much.
He sits up and leans closer. “You never have to apologize for the things that weigh on your heart, Evie. You’ve been carrying this for such a long time. Let me help you.”
The words trigger a gut reaction of panic and disappointment. “Help me? Please don’t tell me you’re saying that as a therapist.”
He shakes his head adamantly. “Of course not, Evie. I was offering as a friend.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. But isn’t this… unethical or something?” I point between him and me. “Divulging all these personal details outside of a therapy session?”
He gives me a slight smile. “I think we’re past the point of you becoming my patient. We’re talking now as friends.”
Something kickstarts in my chest, and I wonder if this means we could be anything more than friends. Do I even want that? The way my body reacts to him confuses the hell out of me. I’ve never wanted that kind of relationship before—with anyone. Why Lincoln? Why now?
“Maybe I was a little desperate for clients when I first met you.” His lips quirk. “Pursuing you the way I did isn’t something I’m exactly proud of.”
I tilt my head, curiously. “Then why did you do it?”
He seems to consider his response. “Maybe I wanted to see you again for reasons that had nothing to do with your mental health.”
My heart skips a beat. “That is most definitely not ethical.”
He shakes his head, looking frustrated with himself and maybe some of his decisions. “Not at fucking all. But if you haven’t noticed, I haven’t asked you to come back to my office since the last time. If you did, it would strictly be as a friend.” The way his eyes burn through mine at the word “friend” tells me he most definitely means something more.
My eyes widen and my breath goes shallow. “Are you saying you don’t want to be my therapist, Doctor Reed?”
The way he pins me with his stare—desperate, hungry, and insatiable with need—makes my entire body come alive.
“I want to be whatever you’ll let me be, Evelyn Vaughn.” His eyes roam over my body, coming back to my lips. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for it.”