Page 53 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 22
Adam remained at the picnic table. The rough wood of the structure, as he pressed his palms on it, anchored him to the present. Tricia Haywood, the bait Hudson had dangled on a hook to get him back in the game, had left, leaving behind her story and a desperation that felt like an anvil around his neck. Even Olivia had gone after she’d come over, walking on eggshells, to see if he was all right.
He snorted. He’d never be all right again. Didn’t deserve to be.
But he hadn’t told her that. He’d put on his well-practiced smile, cracked some joke that had washed away a bit of the concern in her eyes, and sent her home for the night.
If only he could do the same. But the heaviness he’d been carrying around had more than doubled, and he feared if he tried to stand and walk, his knees would buckle. He’d been in this boxing ring, his feet moving. A jab would come, and he’d sell something else and give the money to a charity in Brittany Foresythe’s name. An uppercut, and he’d deflect with a new recipe. Right cross, and he’d fight back with a witty retort.
But his opponent was too strong, and nothing Adam did could stave off his attacks. Fancy footwork wasn’t saving him. He was in a headlock now, falling to the ground, and the pressure in his chest said his rival sat upon him, slamming fists into his solar plexus, his ribs…his heart.
He tore off his ball cap and grabbed a fistful of hair, jamming his elbows on top of the table and hanging his head.
What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t set foot in a courtroom again. He just couldn’t. He refused to be any part of getting rapists and murderers out of jail and back on the streets where they could hurt innocent people. Children, even.
The little boy’s face as he sucked his thumb and squeezed a raggedy stuffed bunny to his chest invaded Adam’s thoughts, and he slammed a fist against the wood top. Tricia had said her husband, Curtis, had been arrested two days ago. He’d been fired unjustly from his job, and his previous employer had made it so Curtis couldn’t get another. Their money had run out. Rent on their trailer was due, or they’d be evicted. On top of that, their cupboards were empty, and their son had cried himself to sleep from hunger. She said Curtis had tried everywhere to find a job. He would have done anything. Unwilling to watch his family starve, he’d taken an unloaded gun to a nearby convenient store. He’d never hurt anyone, she’d adamantly cried.
Adam shook his head, but the boy’s image wouldn’t leave him. Tricia had fled from their trailer, and she and Alex were sleeping in their car. She was afraid the Department of Children and Families would take her son away from her.
And they would. That sweet little boy would become another tragedy of a messed-up world.
But what was Adam supposed to do? Even if conviction gripped him that the real guilty party was Curtis’s power-playing boss, even if he felt compelled to lend legal aid to keep a family together and a father just trying to provide for his family out of jail, he couldn’t.
Walking back into a courtroom would be like excusing his part in Brittany Foresythe’s pain. Like saying she and victims like her weren’t important enough to sacrifice and protect. That they could be pushed aside so the greater good of the system could continue to spit out warped justice.
He couldn’t be a cog in that machine.
He just couldn’t.
He let his head sink to the tabletop with a groan, his pulse thrumming with an ache. Tricia Haywood would have to find someone else to fight this battle for her. Hudson Burke could do it, as he well knew. But the persistent man continued to beat a dead horse, namely Adam, even though he’d hung up this particular sword the moment his last client had been found not guilty.
Adam lifted his head, resolve twisting his stomach to the point of physical pain. Nothing to it. He could help find another lawyer to take on Curtis Haywood’s case, but Adamwould notresume that particular fight.
His phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he leaned to the side to fish it out. Some of the tightness in his middle uncoiled as he accepted the FaceTime call from his brother Michael. “Isn’t it like two in the morning over there in bonny England?”
The camera on the other end shook as Michael shifted positions. “They say things like ‘bonny’ in Scotland, not England, and hello to you to.” He pulled his phone closer, squinting. “Where are you, man? The light is really faint.”
Adam glanced up. “Outside the truck at one of the picnic tables. Needed to think.”
“Everything okay?”
He waved a hand. “Sure. I’m more worried about you and this crazy hour for a phone call.”
“If I wanted to talk to my stupidly busy big brother, I had to set my alarm to call him after I knew he’d shut down for the night.”
“True that. So how’ve you been?”
“Great, man.”
“Like the teaching gig?”
His smile spread. “It’s definitely grown on me.”
“And the PT?”
Michael chuckled. “Always the big brother, right?” He turned and directed the camera to a wall behind him. Three prosthetic legs leaned against the drywall. “Picked up a couple different models. Jackie’s challenged me to a half marathon in a couple of months.”
“That woman has been five steps ahead of you since you met. What makes you think you can catch up now?”
