Page 107 of Firefly Effect

He grins, and I can practically feel our chests exploding together.

“So, what’s next?” I tease, since the answer is completely obvious as he grows hard again between my legs.

“Well,” he says, placing his hands back on my hips. “For one, we can get you off birth control, so we can give Lucy a sibling. That was what she wished for tonight, you know?”

My heart melts. “I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that. It might not come true now.”

Lincoln’s brows raise and he flips me over, so I’m flat on my back and his mouth slides to my ear. “Oh, it’s going to come true.” He presses himself deeply inside of me. “I’ll make sure of it, Evie Girl.”

EPILOGUE

EVELYN REED, ONE YEAR LATER

We Are All Fireflies

by Foster Pruitt

We are all fireflies roaming through the sky

We seek a mate to call our own until the day we die

Our sparkling light shining ever so bright

in a nighttime serenade

All except the femme fatale whose clever plan,

a charade

She’s a black widow of the firefly world

who returns a mating call

With a deceptive glance she holds her stance,

in a plan to lure her prey

With a flashing light, it’s then she strikes

entrapping him to die

We are all fireflies, you see

but there is only one who lies

My heart catches in my throat as I read the final words of the poem. This is what Lincoln has been working on for the past year while he finalized his novel, submitted it to multiple agents, and then began preparations for publishing. After everything we’ve been through, after all his studies, his research, and his work with the FBI, Lincoln’s philosophical theory is finally complete.

After reading the first complete draft, my mind was completely blown. While Lincoln had rattled off bits and pieces of his work to me, it never quite made sense until I read through it all myself.

Firefly Effect is a philosophical concept rooted in existentialism, the uniqueness of human beings, and how we are wired to find our own paths toward a higher purpose. The theoretical novel is layered in truths, allegories about the Firefly Man, poems, and hypothetical ponderings. It’s brilliant in every way, and my heart swells with pride for my husband as I stare across the room at him.

He’s currently standing near the bar engaged in conversation with an older man I’ve never met before and a beautiful brunette woman with a soft smile and eyes so stunning, I can see their depth from where I’m hanging out by the kids’ section of Firefly.

We’re having a private party for Lincoln to celebrate his massive achievement. A book release. Who would have thought fifteen years of life would surmount to something we’re both so incredibly proud of. But it’s his dedication that puts a chokehold on me after reading it for the first time.

To Carley, you blazed a trail so we all could finally see. Thank you for sharing your light. Love you forever, sis.

I close the novel and smile down at the cover, an illustration of a jar of fireflies. The glass is cracked and the fireflies are escaping into the night. I used to think of that cracked jar as the reason for Carley’s demise, but I know better now. That jar doesn’t represent death or loss. It represents freedom—freedom from darkness, freedom from pain.

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