Page 77 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 31
Adam tugged at the bottom of his jacket as he mounted the steps to the Broward County adult detention center. Donning the suit from the back of his small closet had been like uncovering a part of himself that he’d shoved into the dark, cobwebbed recesses of his past.
The microweave didn’t feel altogether comfortable, but the cut of the fabric shaped to his physique seemed a second skin…one he’d tried unsuccessfully to scrub off. He ran a hand down his smoothly shaved face and checked his reflection in the glass door as he entered the building. The man looking back at him was one he never thought he’d see again, but he had to grudgingly admit, one he’d missed.
Confidence had been hard to find when he’d flipped and tucked his navy power tie and rolled down the collar of his starched white shirt. His head could wrap itself around the idea that, for some reason unknown to him, God had called him to this specific purpose—to defend even the guilty. But his heart wasn’t too quick to follow. He found it floundering in his chest, afraid he’d be a tool used to hurt the innocent and free those undeserving of a second chance.
The door squeaked open as he pulled on the handle. For some reason, he’d looked at this moment as some sort of dragon that he would have to slay. He hated that his imagination conjured up the one in Sleeping Beauty, and he made a mental note to make Amber sit through anAvengersmarathon with him as payback.
But now that he was here, he didn’t feel alone. Yes, it seemed that God smiled down on him even as his own father had at the news Adam was returning to criminal defense. Olivia may not be with him, but he felt her just the same. The thought of her squared his shoulders and bolstered his confidence. It drowned out the familiar lies that he’d let speak over him for far too long.
As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out.
A GIF of Amy Poehler giving him two thumbs up and sayingYou Got Thisfilled his screen, and he chuckled. Leave it to Olivia to cut any tension with a well-placed moment of levity. He quickly texted backso do youbefore returning his phone to his pocket. He hated that he wouldn’t be able to be there with her when she met her sister for the first time, but he trusted God the timing had been a part of His plan all along. Otherwise nothing would keep him from standing by her side and holding her hand through the reunion.
Adam breathed deep and refocused, his shoes echoing in the barren entryway, the stark coldness of shiny linoleum floors and cement white walls seeping into him. The sound, the smell, the site…all three worked to stimulate his memory. Of the inmates he’d represented in the past and the confidence he’d once had in himself to offer a glimmer of hope. Because one thing was certain, the hollowness of the building sucked all hope out of those incarcerated within its walls.
He stepped up to the plateglass partition. Every second he breathed in a lungful of filtered air, he seemed to find another piece of himself. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d locked away until then.
The officer asked for his identification, and Adam handed over his bar card as well as his driver’s license. After signing in, the officer pointed to a locker, where Adam deposited his keys and cell phone, leaving out his folder of papers and a quarter to retrieve his possessions.
The officer led him to an attorney/client visiting booth—a small, glass-encased room with a table and a few chairs. He took a seat with his back facing the wall and waited for another officer to bring Curtis in.
Footfalls sounded in the hall in front of the open door, followed by the clink of handcuffs. Curtis Haywood filled the entry. He’d worked in construction and had the frame for such labor. His cuffed hands slacked in front of him, his shoulders slumping in his orange jumpsuit.
“You aren’t my attorney.” Not accusatory, merely stating a fact. The dejection and weary acceptance in his voice struck Adam in the gut.
Adam stood but didn’t hold out his hand. The guards more than frowned on physical contact—it was strictly forbidden, a rule that had always been hard for Adam to follow. Instead, he indicated the chair across the table from him. “Please, have a seat.”
Curtis shuffled forward and lowered himself into the chair, watching Adam. Searching. For hidden motive, perhaps? People in Curtis Haywood’s position, those who’d been pushed to do things they wouldn’t normally do because of duress and then shown no mercy, often found trust a hard thing to give.
Adam leaned forward, his forearms planted on the table. “Mr. Haywood, my name is Adam Carrington. Your wife came to see me a few days ago.”
This drew Haywood’s attention, and he straightened, drawn like a parched man to a tall glass of water. “Tricia? How is she? Did you see my boy? How is—”
“They’re both well. “Adam smiled, hoping to offer Curtis as much reassurance in this visit as he possibly could. “Tricia came to talk with me about representation.”
He slouched, his spine bouncing off the back of the chair. “She shouldn’t have done that. Already got me a court-appointed lawyer.”
Adam opened his folder in front of him. “Mr. Haywood, I would very much like to represent you.”
He sniffed. “I don’t have any money to pay for no fancy lawyer.”
“Pro bono, Mr. Haywood.” He tacked on, “That means for free.”
Curtis looked behind him at the guard standing just outside the door. He turned back and peered at Adam with none of the anger or hostility often driving men in the detention center. He seemed resigned and remorseful. “I did it, you know. For my wife and kid, but I did it.”
Adam curled his fingers into his palm to keep from reaching out and offering Haywood a comforting touch. Instead, he put all the compassion he could convey into his voice. “I know you did. Now we need to convince a jury the circumstances and motivation behind your behavior were ones of desperation and deserve leniency.”
“Do you think you can do that? Do you think a judge will let me go? Be with Tricia and my boy again?”
Adam wished with all his heart he could say yes, but ultimately, that was up to the courts and the judicial process to decide. “I don’t know.”
Curtis looked down at his hands.
“But Idoknow that I will stand between you and the judge. I can’t take your sentence, the consequences of your actions, on myself.” Olivia’s voice whispered in his ear. He wished to addsomeone has already done that, but he wasn’t sure how such a statement would be received. In time, though, maybe. Once he’d earned Curtis’s trust.
He shuffled through some paperwork until he come upon the document he required. “We need to control the narrative for your case.”
