Page 32 of Firefly Effect

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.”

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