Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Faith should have realized that the explosion would thrust her back into the media spotlight. It had been years since she’d been there for reasons other than her professional work, and she’d let down her guard.
She wrapped her cold hands around the coffee mug and stared out the breakfast nook window without really seeing.
The construction crews were already at work, and the charred remains of the trailer had been hauled away by the police.
Other than the black scorch marks on her driveway and the broken glass swept into neat piles, there was little evidence of the violence that had shattered the night.
Except for the newspaper that had been delivered at dawn.
She stared at the front-page photo of herself and cringed. The picture had been taken during her business trip to New York—she recognized the hotel lobby behind her.
Steve Slater’s Widow Targeted in Explosion
“Vultures,” she whispered, scanning the article that revealed far more about her past than the actual incident.
The widow of late NASCAR sensation Steve Slater was the apparent target of a bombing that destroyed a construction trailer outside her Dallas home early Thursday morning.
Dr. Faith Hartwell, host of the nationally syndicated radio program “Dr. Hartwell’s Heart to Heart,” was inside the house when the explosion occurred.
Slater, who died in a Monte Carlo crash five years ago, had been estranged from his wife at the time of his death. Sources close to the family confirm that divorce proceedings were underway when the racing champion was killed along with Italian socialite Gianna DeCosta…
Faith set the paper aside, her stomach churning. She’d worked so hard to build a life separate from Steve’s shadow, and now one twisted individual had dragged it all back into the light.
Jake stood in the doorway, watching her struggle with demons he was only beginning to understand.
She looked fragile in the morning light, wrapped in an oversized sweater that couldn’t quite hide the tension in her shoulders.
He’d given her the night to process everything, but they needed to talk. Really talk.
“Morning,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.
Faith turned, splashing coffee on her hand in surprise. The liquid had gone cold hours ago, so she barely noticed. Her eyes held a fascinating combination of wariness and something that looked like relief.
He crossed to her slowly, gently taking her face in his hands before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Some of the tension left her shoulders.
“Good morning,” she whispered, leaning into the kiss before she could second-guess herself. “Did you sleep at all?”
Jake’s mouth quirked upward. “About as well as you did, I’d guess. Which is to say, not much.” He gestured to the newspaper. “I see the media’s found you.”
“They always do, eventually.” Faith folded the paper, hiding the headlines. “I’d hoped those days were behind me.”
“I brought breakfast,” Jake said, holding up a bag from the local diner. “Figured we both needed real food after last night.”
The simple gesture—him thinking to feed her when her world was falling apart—made her throat tight with unexpected emotion.
“I owe you an explanation,” Faith said, her voice barely above a whisper. “About why I didn’t tell you about the stalker. About…other things.”
Jake moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, pulling plates from the cabinets and setting them on the table along with silverware and napkins. He poured fresh coffee into two mugs, the domestic routine giving Faith time to gather her courage.
“I’m listening,” he said, settling across from her and dividing the food between their plates.
Faith stared into her coffee, gathering courage.
“My parents gave me everything—love, support, opportunities most people only dream of. I had an amazing childhood. The only thing I ever wanted was a sibling, but my mother used to joke that not even her love for me was enough to make her go through childbirth again.”
Jake smiled slightly at that, taking a sip of his coffee.
“But when I reached my teens, I think they didn’t know what to do with me. I was academically gifted—too advanced for my peers, too young for real intellectual companionship. College at sixteen, graduate work by twenty. I lived at home through it all, sheltered and lonely.”
She accepted the container Jake handed her—scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a warm biscuit that smelled like heaven.
“I don’t usually eat breakfast,” she admitted.
“You should. You’ll need your strength today.” He settled across from her with his own container. “Go on.”
Faith took a tentative bite, surprised by how hungry she actually was. “I met Steve when I was twenty-two. He was thirty, confident, charming. It was at some charity gala—me in my evening gown, him in his tuxedo. Like something out of a fairy tale.”
Jake’s expression remained carefully neutral, but she caught the slight tightening around his eyes.
“He walked right up to me, handed me champagne, and started talking like we’d known each other forever. I was completely swept away. We were married a week later.” Faith’s voice grew quieter. “I was a virgin on my wedding night. I haven’t been with anyone else since.”
The confession hung between them. Jake’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.
“The first few months were wonderful. We traveled, I put my dissertation on hold, played the role of the devoted racing wife. Then the season started, and everything changed.”
Faith pushed food around her plate, her appetite disappearing. “Steve became obsessed with winning. Completely focused on racing. I felt abandoned, lost. When I tried to talk to him about it, he told me I was a na?ve daddy’s girl who thought the world revolved around her.”
“He was threatened by your intelligence,” Jake said quietly. “Your independence.”
“Maybe. I came home with some excuse about schoolwork, and he barely noticed. When he did visit, it was like nothing had changed—except everything had. He’d stay for a few days, we’d barely leave the bedroom, then he’d disappear again without a word.”
Faith’s hands trembled slightly as she continued. “Then I saw the first tabloid photo. Steve with some English aristocrat, kissing outside their hotel. The pictures made it clear they were…involved. I was humiliated, especially for my family.”
Jake reached across the table, covering her hand with his. “It wasn’t your fault, Faith.”
“A little amateur therapy?” she asked with a weak smile, echoing his words from weeks ago.
“No. Just the truth.”
Faith squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his touch. “When he came home next, I confronted him about the pictures. He denied everything, said the media exaggerated things. We fought, and I…I threw myself at him. I was desperate to prove I could satisfy him, that I was enough.”
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “He was different that time. Rougher. Afterwards, he told me that men didn’t like their wives acting like common whores. Then he left me on the floor and walked out.”
Jake’s free hand clenched into a fist on the table, his knuckles white. He had to look away for a moment, struggling to control the rage that threatened to consume him. “Faith, look at me.”
When she did, tears streaming down her cheeks, he forced his voice to remain gentle. “You were never the problem. You were a young woman trying to save her marriage. His cruelty—that was about his own sickness, not anything you did wrong.”
“He changed me with that one sentence,” she continued, her voice breaking.
“Made me doubt everything about myself. I threw myself into my dissertation, gained weight, stopped caring about the tabloids or his affairs. When he did come home, I’d just…
disappear inside my own head. Let him do whatever he wanted because fighting hurt worse than surrendering. ”
“He was abusing you.” The words came out rough with barely controlled emotion.
“Yes.” The simple acknowledgment seemed to drain something from her, but also brought a strange relief.
“It got worse near the end. He’d slap me, pinch me, leave bruises.
I think part of him wanted me to fight back, to give him an excuse to hurt me more.
But I’d learned that making myself small was the only way to survive. ”
Jake stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He moved to the window, his hands trembling with the effort of containing his fury. “I’m sorry,” he said, his back to her. “I just need a moment.”
Faith’s voice was small, uncertain. “Jake…does this change how you see me?”
He spun around, his eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness.
“Change how I see you? Faith, you survived something that would have broken most people. You rebuilt your entire life from nothing. You help others heal from their pain while carrying this inside you.” He crossed back to her.
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. ”
“I don’t feel strong,” she whispered. “A month before he died, I was getting ready for a shower and saw myself in the mirror. Bruises on my ribs and arms, welts on my thighs. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
” Faith’s voice grew steadier as she continued.
“That’s when I realized I had a choice—I could disappear completely, or I could fight for the person I used to be. ”
“What did you do?”
“I called my mother. When she saw me, she cried. Then she got angry—the kind of righteous fury only a mother can summon. She said she didn’t raise her daughter to be any man’s punching bag, and she was taking me to a lawyer immediately.”
“I think I’d like your mother very much.”
“She’d adore you.” Faith managed a watery smile. “Steve’s family was scandalized, of course. His mother called to lecture me about duty and discretion. She said all wives had to tolerate infidelity, that my job was to produce an heir and keep quiet.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “Please tell me you hung up on her.”
“After I told her exactly what I thought of her precious son and her family’s values.” Faith’s smile grew stronger. “It felt like reclaiming a piece of myself I thought was lost forever.”
Jake pulled her from her chair and into his arms, holding her against his chest. “You’re incredibly brave, Faith. What you survived, what you built afterward—it’s remarkable.”
“A month later, I got the call about Monte Carlo. Steve and his mistress were both killed instantly. Christmas Day, five years ago.” Faith leaned into Jake’s warmth, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“I went to the funeral, and the media painted me as a heartless gold digger because I didn’t collapse in grief.
But the truth was, Steve had already killed the part of me that could mourn him. There was nothing left to give.”
Jake’s arms tightened around her. “That’s why you keep everyone at arm’s length.”
“I learned to handle everything alone because relying on someone meant giving them the power to destroy you.” Faith pulled back to meet his eyes, her own bright with unshed tears.
“It’s why I didn’t tell you about the stalker.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you specifically—I just forgot how to let anyone carry part of the weight. ”
“But you’re telling me now,” Jake said softly, brushing tears from her cheeks with infinite gentleness.
“Because last night, in the kitchen when you told me you were still in love with me—for the first time since I was twenty-two, I felt truly safe with someone.” Her voice caught.
“And I realized that maybe learning to trust again isn’t just about courage.
Maybe it’s about finding someone worthy of that trust.”
Jake cupped her face in his hands, his blue eyes intense with emotion. “You are safe with me, Faith. Not just from the stalker, but from ever being hurt like that again. I promise you that.”
They sat in the golden morning light, holding each other while the sounds of reconstruction drifted through the windows. Faith felt something inside her chest—something that had been locked away for five years—begin to tentatively unfurl.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Now we figure out who’s been threatening you, and we make sure he can never hurt you again.” Jake’s voice held quiet determination and unshakeable commitment. “And we do it together.”
Faith nodded, surprised by how right that word sounded after so many years of fierce independence. For the first time since she was young enough to believe in fairy tales, she didn’t have to face the monsters alone.
“Together,” she repeated, and felt something inside her heart begin to heal.