Since his release three-and-a-half months ago, he’d broken no laws. He’d stuck to the goal he’d made for himself in prison and cleaned up his life. Yet his outwardly good actions weren’t enough to fix what was still messed up inside him.

He was miserable.

Finley and his parents had dealt with hardship, too, but they weren’t miserable. The one big difference between them and him was that they’d hung on to their faith.

“Your faithlessness doesn’t affect God’s faithfulness,” Finley had said to him. “None of the love He has for you is conditional.”

Was it worth trying to pick his faith back up at this point?

How, though? Was he just supposed to snap his fingers and resume his relationship with God?

He’d been through some of the worst things life can deal a person, and nothing should scare him. But two things did: trusting in God, and the fact that something inside him still wanted to be loved and needed.

He felt unworthy of love, yet the longing to be loved hadn’t left him despite everything he’d done to suffocate it, and all the years of isolation in prison.

The scaffolding holding him up inside was cracking, and he didn’t know what to do about any of it.

Mr. Dempsey?” A tall brunette who looked to be about thirty came to a halt in the reception area.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Horton is ready for you.”

Luke rose and followed her. When he’d told Finley about the disciplinary actions the state bar had taken against Rosco Horton, she’d supported Luke’s plan to meet her father’s attorney and told Luke to take as much time off work today as he needed. He knew she didn’t expect him to make up the time it would take to drive to Hartwell, meet with Rosco, and drive back. But he’d stay late at the Center tonight and make it up anyway.

Rosco’s office was old-school. The green carpet and dark wood gave the place an eighties vibe.

The brunette knocked on Rosco’s door, then opened it for Luke.

“Thank you, Julia,” Rosco said as he stood. The door clicked softly behind Luke as the older man came around the desk with a smile. They shook hands, exchanged introductions, and took their seats.

Rosco appeared to be in his early-to-mid seventies. He had the body of a mall Santa Claus, without the beard. He wore red suspenders and a tie that looked uncomfortably tight.

“Let’s talk about how I might be able to help you,” Rosco said.

“I’d like to have my will drawn up.”

“Yes. Very wise. We can certainly handle that for you.”

Rosco explained the steps involved as Luke studied him. The older man was polite and outgoing. Confident and kind.