Page 75 of Freedom's Kiss
Olivia brought their clasped hands to her chest. “Adam, I know about Brittany Forsythe. I know that you represented the man who raped her. That you won.”
His head hung, shame covering him in tangible layers. “She was only sixteen.”
“And you were only doing your job.”
His neck snapped, bringing flashing eyes to meet hers, but just as quickly the fight drained out of them. “That’s not an excuse.” His voice hardened. “I will spend the rest of my life making it right.”
Her body shifted even closer to him. “But that’s just it—you can never make it right. None of us can ever make any of our mistakes right.” His face turned to look away, so she squeezed his hand to bring back his attention, her eyes pleading with him to see and understand. “Adam, you can stack all your good deeds on your side of the scale, but it will never pay the price. The balance will never equal. You’re trying to atone for your perceived wrongdoing, but that’s not how grace works. The only thing that will make those scales balance is one single drop of blood. And that has already been shed.”
His jaw tightened, but she didn’t think he’d tuned her out. The soft prodding urged her to continue.
“It’s admirable that you want to support victims like Brittany Forsythe by selling your fancy car and living in a tiny house, but those things aren’t going to take the pain and weight of guilt that you’ve been shouldering all this time. You’ve built a prison around yourself. Shackled your wrists in chains of your own making.” He tried to look away again, so she placed her hands on both of his roughened cheeks and forced his eyes to meet hers. “God is the chain breaker. He’s offering you freedom from your self-imposed prison. Please.” Her gaze searched his eyes. “Please allow Him to set you free.”
He licked his upper lip, his throat bobbing. “I don’t deserve it. I deserve to be in jail.”
She felt a smile soften her face. “Actually, we all deserve the death penalty.” She sobered and kidnapped his gaze, a tickle to her memory of a verse she’d heard preached recently. She opened her mouth and spoke truth over him. “Jesus said, ‘He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recover sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free.’”
He blinked, as if afraid to look into a beam of light when he’d locked himself in a dark room. His crumpled brow slowly unfolded, and he tilted his head. “Amazing Grace?”
Olivia leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “No more chains. We’ve all been set free.”
He exhaled again, and this time it sounded as if he were releasing things he’d pent up for a long time. He looked at her, his eyes clearing, though she knew his battle wasn’t over. God might toss His children’s sins—both real and perceived—into the depths of the sea of forgiveness, but the accuser—the prosecutor of man’s life trial—loved to try and dig the memory of them back up, whether the evidence was no longer admissible or not.
Adam rested his chin on his shoulder and peered at the food truck. “I can’t stop thinking about Curtis Haywood and his family,” he admitted.
“The woman who was here the other day with the little boy?”
“Yeah. His arraignment is coming up, and even if he’s released on bail, there’s no way his wife can come up with the money.”
“Does he have an attorney?”
“Court appointed.”
Olivia studied him. “You should take his case.”
“I’m not sure—”
She laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “Adam, you should take his case.”
She watched him mentally wrestle with the decision before surrendering with a nod. “I’ll go and see him at the jailhouse later today.” As if just realizing something, he jerked back and looked at his watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Seaside?”
She shrugged. “I quit.”
“Really?”
If she’d expected him to be surprised, she would have been disappointed. But how could she be when he was beaming down at her with pride? “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He reached into his front pockets and pulled out a wad of keys. Finding the right one, he slid it off the key ring and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“I’m promoting you to head chef and manager of Southern Charm.”
She stared at the silver key with wide eyes, fingering it like a rare jewel and not a piece of metal that had been cut into shape at a hardware store.
“I know it’s not some executive position at a fancy fine-dining establishment or anything, but—”
She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Thank you!”
