Page 6 of Firefly Effect

A warm breeze wraps me in a hug the moment I enter the sidewalk. There’s nothing better than stepping out from the frigid temperature of the bar to the perfect summer air. While most people dread the humidity, especially during these peak months, I live for it. There’s nothing better than throwing on my signature outfit—a mid-length fitted skirt with a single slit running up one thigh and a retro T-shirt that reaches a millimeter above the top of my waist.

Luckily, Gabe is too busy talking to the driver of the red car to notice me when I walk by. Thank goodness. Ever since I ghosted him last month—his term, not mine—our encounters have been awkward at best. In my defense, we both agreed to keep things casual in the beginning. His attention was flattering, the sex was a good distraction, but no matter how persistently Gabe worked to transition the relationship into something more serious, I just couldn’t get there. He didn’t take the news well.

After I quickly round the corner, darkness engulfs me between the shadows of the buildings on either side. Not much scares me anymore, not after finding Carley in such a brutal way that night long ago, but I’ve never been able to erase the chilling fear that someone is watching me. Not always, but from time to time, like now, when I’m most vulnerable—a woman alone at night without a single witness to vouch for her whereabouts.

Clutching the pocketknife I carry with me wherever I go, I pick up the pace, determined to make it to my appointment on time for once. Yeah, I might be numb to a lot these days, but I’m not stupid.

After a scolding last week, I realized how desensitized I’ve become to my weekly sessions with J.D. Wright, an old childhood friend of my uncle’s and the only therapist in town. It’s hard to believe there was a time when sitting on J.D.’s worn leather couch at Calm Waters felt critical to my survival—when I clung to routine visits like they were a safety net. But it’s been twelve years, and until recently, quitting therapy has simply never been an option.

The two-story, red brick building that overlooks the Tuckasegee River is a statement as much as it is a historical landmark for the town. Structured much like a townhome, there’s a comfort it brings just stepping foot inside its double doors. I was a teenager the first time I entered this spacious foyer, and save for a few art pieces, nothing has changed. Well, except for Doreen, the Calm Waters receptionist, whose usual warm expression is nowhere to be found as she talks on the phone with her head down like she’s in a serious conversation.

Not wanting to disturb her, I make my way through the waiting room and around her desk to my therapist’s office. Twelve years of coming here has made me comfortable enough to walk straight through the open door to take a seat on J.D.’s burgundy couch. There isn’t much to the narrow gray office, just a window that takes up one long wall, a gray bookshelf that takes up the other, and a matching desk against the back wall.

Sinking into my favorite corner of the leather couch, an instant calm washes over me. I used to joke that this place was my home away from home, but at one point in time, I didn’t even know where home was. After I got kicked out by my parents at seventeen, my uncle was right there to take me in, insisting I stay in the extra bedroom above the bar. His only conditions were that I talk to a professional and help around the bar as much as I could, being underage at the time.

A click of the door as it closes alerts me of my therapist’s presence, and I wait to hear the sophisticated drone of J.D.’s voice. He walks by as my gaze is lowered, and I take in an unfamiliar scent. For as long as I’ve known my uncle’s friend, he’s carried a musky scent with subtle tones of vanilla. So when the smell of rich cedar, mint, and green apple intensifies, my eyes shoot open to find a man who is most certainly not J.D. Wright taking a final step to reach the desk before turning around to face me.

“Hello, Ms. Vaughn.” The deep voice that greets me so warmly is as foreign as it is shocking.

I’m at a loss for words, my confusion making it difficult to process the tall stranger with a full beard standing in front of me.

A piercingly handsome stranger.

A stranger who knows my name and who just walked into my therapy session.

The man wears a white button-down shirt, a fitted gray suit jacket, and matching slacks that do nothing to hide the muscular form of his thighs. His dark-rimmed spectacles cover his eyes, making it difficult to make out exactly how he’s assessing me now.

“Who are you?” I sweep a glance around the room, like maybe I missed J.D. entering the room along with the mysterious man. When there’s no sign of him, I look back at the stranger now leaning against the front of the desk, seemingly far more comfortable in this space than he should be, considering it’s not even his. “Where is J.D.?”

Lines form across the man’s brow. “I’m sorry?” He looks just as confused as I feel.

“J.D.,” I say again before realizing the problem. Referring to a therapist by his initials is not exactly standard. “Jenkins,” I correct. “Jenkins Douglas Wright—J.D.”

His mouth opens like he finally understands. “Oh.” Another uncomfortable pause. “Doreen assured me she contacted everyone. I’ll be filling in for Mr. Wright.”

Filling in for J.D.?

My mind spins, trying to make sense of this news.

The man hesitates for a second then picks up a folder from the desk and places it in his lap. “I’m giving all of Mr. Wright’s patients a free consultation so we can get to know each other and to ensure I’m the best fit for your sessions moving forward. No obligation. You don’t sign a thing unless you want to. We can just take this time to get to know each other.” The man searches my eyes as if uncertain how to phrase his words. “I’m so sorry you weren’t informed ahead of time.”

Tension radiates through my body, tightening my muscles while my blood pulses wildly through my veins. Panic, discomfort… curiosity. This doesn’t make sense. Certainly, if something happened to my therapist of twelve years, Doreen would have told me about it.

I slowly sit up, straightening my back and shoulders. “I still don’t understand. Why are you filling in for J.D.? Where is he?”

Before he can respond, I push off from the couch.

“You know what?” Shaking my head, I head toward the door. “I need to go.”

“Ms. Vaughn. I know this must feel sudden. I would very much like the chance to…”

I ignore him, not able to hear another word as I throw open the door so hard that it bangs against the wall. Oops.

Doreen jumps and spins in her chair to face the noise. She sighs with relief when she sees it’s me. “Oh, Evie. You scared me. I didn’t see you come in.”

“You were busy, so I let myself in.” The words are rushed as I get to more important matters. “Where is J.D.?” I look over my shoulder to find the mystery man slowly lifting himself from the desk and taking a step in my direction. Lowering my voice and leaning forward, I ask, “And who is that?”

Her eyes flash wider and blood drains from her face. “Oh my. Didn’t I call you? That’s Doctor Reed, dear. He’s filling in for J.D.”

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