Freedom's Kiss

by Sarah Monzon

The woman’s fingers fell from the window. “Yes, sir.”

  Adam straightened and mumbled something under his breath as he removed his hat and resettled it on his head. With a deep sigh, he hunched back down to speak out the opening. “I don’t know what Mr. Burke told you, but he was mistaken. I’m not a lawyer anymore. I just run a food truck.” His voice dropped. “I’m sorry.”

  The woman shook her head frantically. “Please. I don’t have anywhere else to go. If you don’t help… Please.” The boy wiggled in her arms, drawing her attention. She used her thumb to caress his cheek, then returned pleading eyes to Adam. “Please.”

  Olivia couldn’t speak. The weight in her chest grew, pushing down on her diaphragm. The fear and worry and anxiety that marked the woman’s countenance took up residence in Olivia’s own heart. She glanced at Adam, gut twisting at the firmness of his jaw. Would he really turn this woman away? Remain immobile due to the crush of guilt and shame and refuse to help her?

  Olivia stepped forward and placed her palm between his shoulder blades. “Adam.”

  He sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly as if returning from somewhere in his head. He looked at her, almost to the point of begging—a shared expression with the woman outside.

  She tilted her head and flicked her gaze in that direction.

  His shoulders sagged, but he nodded. Turning back to the woman, he pointed behind her. “No promises, but let’s talk at the picnic table.”

  Her face lit. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

  Olivia reached for three cups and poured lemonade into them, handing them in a triangle to Adam. “I’ve got things covered from here.”

  He took the cups, his expression pained, and walked out the back. She watched him approach the woman, who pulled out a toy from her bag and offered it to the boy who sat on the bench beside her. Adam set the lemonade cups on the table before shaking the woman’s hand.

  Olivia couldn’t hear their conversation, but she studied Adam’s face as he sat silently absorbing whatever tale the mother shared. At first he seemed panicked, a man pushed into an unwanted corner, but as she watched, he seemed to change. Only slightly. Only because she looked so hard did she see it. Or maybe it was her own wishing she saw reflected from his face. But he did seem to straighten as he listened, the immediate flash of denial and defense taking a backseat to a raw hunger to help.

  A shadow from the streetlight elongated on the sidewalk in front of her, and Olivia pulled her focus to a man as he stepped up to the window. She flashed the customer a smile while simultaneous casting another furtive glance to the picnic table. But as she pulled her gaze back, her friendly greeting died on her lips as recognition stole her thoughts. Snazzy suit, slicked-back hair, an air of importance.

  “I feel at a disadvantage, as you obviously know who I am, but I have not yet been introduced to you.” Hudson Burke’s smile surprised her with its genuineness. For some reason, she thought he’d resemble more of a snake than a puppy.

  “What are you doing here?” The words flew from her mouth, and she cringed from their bite against her tongue.

  Hudson Burke’s expression didn’t change except for a slight lift of his brows. He shifted his gaze from her to Adam and the woman.

  Of course. Hadn’t the woman said Mr. Burke had been the one to direct her to Adam?

  “You know, I wasn’t even sure he’d hear her out. A month ago, I know he wouldn’t have.” He regarded her from hooded lids. “I wonder what’s changed.”

  But from his calculated look, she could read that he thought she was the change. Yes, she and Adam had formed a friendship, but she didn’t think she had any sway over him. Especially not the way this man thought, as if she and Adam were romantically involved.

  She squinted against the dark, glad another streetlamp illuminated the picnic table and the trio. Adam leaned forward, his head tilted in thought, as if weighing possibilities, sifting through case files, and building a defense right there in the middle of the field. But his lips pressed against each other, the strain of which pulled his whole body in a tight ball.

  He may have agreed to hear what the woman had to say, and obviously he wanted to help, but Olivia didn’t think any promises would be made this night. Only he had the key to unlock his chains, but the problem was, he thought he deserved a life sentence of punishment and penance.

  “He’s the best, you know.” Mr. Burke’s voice drew her head around. His eyes remained fastened to the scene at the picnic table, his expression pensive. Almost pained. “I’ve never seen anyone in the courtroom like him. Never seen anyone have a way with clients like he did.” His dark eyes, filled with intelligence and a wisdom more seen from a man many decades older, peered at her. “You know what this is?” He patted the side of the truck. “Wasted potential. Some people get into law for the money or the prestige or even the altruistic motive of actually helping people. With Adam, it wasn’t so much that he chose law. Law chose him. This”—he thumped the aluminum side again—“this is the cage of his wasted life if he refuses to do what he was made to do.”

  He still looked at her. More like studied her, and the scrutiny made her squirm.

  “Do you want to sit by and watch him squander his potential? Watch such a bright and driven man shrivel into a shadow of himself?”

  Would he? Would this man who laughed easily and was quick to tease dim into something she couldn’t recognize? Yes. She didn’t even have to think about it. The answer came instantly. She’d seen glimpses—in the farmers’ market, in his parents’ living room—of the storm that raged inside him. If he surrendered, if he allowed those pounding rains and whipping winds of guilt to beat and batter him without a fight, a person living without a purpose, then all the sunniness that remained around him would vanish and be consumed by the darkness.

  “I’ve been trying to convince him to let go of the Forsythe case, but he shuts down at just a whiff of such conversations. Every angle. Believe me—I’ve tried them all.”

  “You want me to talk to him.” The pressure in her middle lessened.

  “He won’t listen to me, but maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  “Why me? Surely someone who’s known him longer, has a better relationship with him…” Her argument drifted off as Mr. Burke shook his head.

  “I’ve been here the last couple of days. Watching. Trying to figure out a way to get through that thick skull of his. The way the two of you work together…it’s like a dance. One where the steps are inherent. Ingrained. Second nature. You move together like partners. Now, I”—he smoothed down his tie—“I’ve been Adam’s work partner, but you…” He cocked a brow, his insinuation clear.

  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 Adam would not resume 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?”

  “Hey, watch it.” Michael wagged the stump of his amputated arm. “Your time will come, old man.”

  Might already be here.

  “Have you talked to Amber recently?” Michael asked.

  Adam paused at the turn in the conversation. Amber? Was something wrong with his little sister that he didn’t know about? “Not really, why? Something up?”

  “Yeah.” Michael’s mouth quirked sideways. “She’s finally chosen a major.”

  Adam felt himself relax. Big news, but nothing to get his firstborn hackles rising. “Let me guess. English lit?”

  “Nope. Theology.”

  “She wants to be a pastor?”

  “Or possibly a hospital chaplain.”

  “Wow.”

  “That’s what I said. She’s a little worried about receiving flak since she’s a female, but feels strongly God’s calling her to ministry.”

  “Good for her.”

  “She also told me that you’re suffering a bit from a Moses complex. Being a big baby and refusing the mantle God’s given you. Trying to pawn it off on an Aaron.”

  Adam gripped the back of his neck, the muscles there spasming. “Not you too.”

  Michael shrugged like it was no sweat off his back, but his eyes narrowed. “Don’t kill the messenger. But shoot straight. I get that you might have needed a break after…you know. But it’s time to rejoin the troops, man.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Michael’s brows rose. “Don’t I?”

  Having been a navy fighter pilot, Michael had shared with him some of the ethical dilemmas he’d grappled with. The guilt that would gnaw away at him after he returned from a mission and learned of the casualty count—those who’d been targeted along with the lives sacrificed as collateral damage.

  “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to drop bombs and know that I was taking a life? But I did it because I had to believe in the bigger picture, the greater good. If evil is allowed to go unchecked, if the weak and defenseless have no one to fight for them, then where would this world be? Ruled by tyrants like Hitler or Stalin or ISIS.”

  Adam leaned in and punched his finger to the table, imagining it was his brother’s chest. “But the thing is, I wasn’t fighting the bad guys—I was defending them. And those innocents that you so nobly defended, they…” He swallowed against a lump of self-loathing. “Well, I might as well have done to them what my clients had.”

  “Adam—”

  “No!” He fisted his palm and slammed it against his chest. “I refuse to allow you or anyone else to let me off the hook. Not when I shoulder that responsibility and blame. And I can’t do it again, Michael. I can’t look into another defendant, another victim’s eyes and know that I’m the reason they’ll never feel safe again. You…you slayed monsters. Me? I released them.”

  “It’s not as cut and dry as that, and you know it.”

  The pressure built until he became numb, too exhausted to fight any longer. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Michael exhaled, long and deep. “Fine. I really called to talk about Mom’s birthday anyway.”

  Adam leaned back, switched the phone to his other hand. “Yeah? What about it?”

  “You guys still planning on having family game night even though it’s her birthday?”

  His lips tipped. “Mom would make sure we had game night even if the apocalypse knocked on her front door. A little birthday isn’t going to stop her.”

  Michael grinned. “That’s what I thought. Jackie and I are flying in to surprise her, but don’t tell anyone. I’ll email you our itinerary, and if you wouldn’t mind picking us up at the airport, that’d be great.”

  “You got it, Lieutenant.”

  “Thanks, Moses.”

  Chapter 23

  Florida, 1824

  Winnie used the back of her wrist to stop the bead of sweat trailing down her forehead and into her eyes. The hot day was made hotter by the stoked fire and boiling water sending st
eam careening through the air. Martha stood at the large pot, using a stick in her hand to swirl the garments within. Winnie bent over Nokosi’s shirt and scrubbed a bar of soap across the faded material.

  “The other women and I could’ve handled your wash.” Martha’s chin poked her shoulder as she looked back at Winnie.

  “It’s been five weeks. More’n enough time for my body to heal from birth and me to start workin’ again, though I thank you for yer help since little Otter’s birth.”

  Martha’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny before her face softened. “You miss him, don’t you? Even bein’ gone less than an hour, your arms ache to hold him again. I was the same way with Timothy.”

  It was true. As Nokosi had made it a habit of staying close, his shadow no farther than the edges of her vision, Winnie’d stayed even nearer to her son, not letting him out of her sight for a moment. She’d fashioned a sling to wear him close to her heart as she went about her responsibilities, but today she’d lost the battle to keep him by her side. “His pusa demanded time with him, and you know how Nokosi’s mother can be.” Winnie smiled, for she truly loved the older woman and how she doted on Otter, but her mother’s heart would be happy when the familiar weight of her son was once again safe in her arms.

  The other women chatted amicably as they scrubbed or rinsed clothes alongside the lake. Rather than tote the water to the village, they’d built a fire and hauled their empty basins to the lake. Both the villages of the natives and blacks were close by, but even so, Winnie felt her heartstrings tug.

  Gripping the bar of soap more firmly, she scrubbed it along the material in front of her. The faster they could finish the chore, the sooner she could return to Otter.

  A twig snapped behind her, and she stilled, ear pricked to hear another footfall as a small smile spread across her lips. Often the young boys would practice walking on ghost feet and jump out to scare their mothers or older sisters. She released the lathered bar from her hand and punched to her feet, twirling around to beat the little scamp at his own game.