Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The studio felt different on New Year’s Eve.
Faith had decorated it with silver streamers and a small champagne bottle that Lucy had insisted would “set the mood” for their special midnight show.
Outside, Dallas glittered with celebration, but inside the booth, Faith felt the familiar comfort of her professional sanctuary.
Two weeks at her parents’ house had been exactly what she’d needed—and everything she’d dreaded.
Her mother’s gentle questions, her father’s concerned glances, the therapist they’d quietly suggested she see.
Dr. Miranda Collins had been kind but relentless, helping Faith untangle years of carefully constructed defenses.
“You can’t heal while you’re still protecting the wound,” Dr. Collins had said during their final session. “At some point, you have to trust that you’re strong enough to love and be loved without losing yourself.”
Now, back in Dallas, Faith felt different. Raw, but cleaner somehow. Ready to face whatever came next.
“Thirty seconds to midnight, Faith,” Lucy’s voice crackled through her headphones. “You’ve been brilliant tonight. Really brilliant.”
Faith smiled, adjusting her microphone. The show had been one of her best—calls about new beginnings, second chances, the courage to start over. Perfect for New Year’s Eve.
“Thank you all for joining me tonight,” Faith said into the microphone, her voice warm with genuine affection for her listeners.
“As we head into this new year, I want you to remember that every day is a chance to choose love over fear, hope over despair, connection over isolation. From all of us here at WKTP, have a safe and happy?—”
Lucy’s voice cut through her earpiece, practically vibrating with excitement. “Faith, wait. We’ve got one more caller.”
Faith glanced through the glass and raised her brows, but Lucy was ignoring her. “Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have time for one final call. Devoted in Dallas , you’re on the air with Dr. Hartwell.”
“Happy New Year, Doc.”
Faith’s breath caught. That voice—deep, familiar, achingly beloved—sent electricity racing through her veins. Her eyes flew to Lucy, who was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.
“What can I help you with tonight?” Faith managed, her professional training warring with the sudden thundering of her heart.
“Well, I’m hoping you can give me some advice about second chances.” Jake’s voice was softer than usual, vulnerable in a way that made Faith’s chest tight. “You see, I fell in love with this incredible woman. Brilliant, beautiful, stronger than she knows. But I messed it up because I got scared.”
Faith gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles white. Through the glass, she could see Lucy practically bouncing in her chair.
“What scared you?” Faith asked quietly.
“I was afraid I wasn’t good enough for her. Afraid I’d hurt her the way someone else had. So instead of trusting her to know her own heart, I started treating her like she was broken. Like she needed to be fixed instead of loved.”
Faith’s eyes filled with tears she couldn’t shed on air. “And what would you say to her now, if you could?”
Jake was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion.
“I’d tell her that I was wrong. That she was never broken—she was healing, and that takes more courage than I ever had.
I’d tell her that watching her rebuild her life from the ground up was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I was honored to witness even a part of it. ”
“That’s…” Faith had to stop, clear her throat. “That’s very honest.”
“I’d tell her that love isn’t about rescuing someone or being rescued.
It’s about choosing to build something together, even when it’s scary, even when you don’t have all the answers.
” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
“And I’d tell her that if she’d give me another chance, I’d spend the rest of my life proving that real love doesn’t try to erase your past—it honors it, because your past made you who you are. ”
Faith closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her best efforts. “And what if she’s changed? What if she’s not the same person you fell in love with?”
“Then I’d fall in love with who she’s become,” Jake said without hesitation. “Because the thing about real love, Doc—it grows. It adapts. It chooses the person again and again, through every change, every challenge, every new version of themselves they become.”
The studio was dead silent except for the soft hiss of the audio equipment. Faith could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
“And what about her fears?” Faith asked, her voice barely steady. “What if she’s afraid of getting hurt again?”
“I’d tell her that I can’t promise she’ll never hurt again—life doesn’t work that way.
But I can promise that if she hurts, she won’t hurt alone.
I can promise that I’ll choose her every day, through every storm, through every moment of doubt.
” Jake’s voice grew stronger, more certain.
“I can promise that what we have is worth fighting for, worth risking everything for.”
Faith took a shaky breath. “And what would you want her to say?”
“I’d want her to tell me the truth. All of it. Even if it breaks my heart.”
The silence stretched between them, intimate despite the thousands of listeners. Faith looked through the glass at Lucy, who was nodding encouragingly, tears in her own eyes.
“Well,” Faith said finally, her voice stronger now, “if I were this woman, I think I’d tell you that I was scared too. Scared that I wasn’t ready, that I’d hurt you with all my sharp edges and broken places.”
“Faith,” Jake whispered, and her name on his lips was like coming home.
“I’d tell you that I spent two weeks learning that healing isn’t about erasing your scars—it’s about understanding that they’re part of your story, but they don’t have to be the end of it.
” Faith’s voice grew steadier with each word.
“I’d tell you that I went into therapy, real therapy this time, not just for everyone else but for myself. ”
“And?”
“And I learned that I was trying to love you while still protecting myself from you. That I was asking you to love me while keeping one foot out the door.” Faith smiled through her tears. “That’s not fair to either of us.”
“So what are you saying, Doc?”
Faith looked up at the studio clock—11:59 p.m. In seconds, a new year would begin. A year full of possibilities, of choices, of chances to be brave.
“I’m saying that if you’re willing to take a chance on a woman who’s finally ready to take a chance on herself, I’d like to try again. No safety nets this time. No exit strategies. Just…us.”
“Faith,” Jake’s voice was thick with emotion. “I love you. Not the idea of you, not some fantasy version—you. Your strength, your courage, your beautiful, complicated heart. I love that you help people heal, and I love watching you learn to heal yourself.”
“I love you too,” Faith whispered, and the words felt like a prayer, like a promise, like the beginning of everything.
“I love your patience, your kindness, the way you see the best in people even when they can’t see it themselves.
I love that you taught me the difference between a house and a home. ”
Through the glass, Faith could see Lucy wiping her eyes, and beyond her, the WKTP staff had gathered, all of them listening with rapt attention.
“So,” Jake said, and she could hear the smile in his voice, “are you ready to come home? Because I’m pretty sure there’s someone waiting in the parking garage who’d very much like to start the new year with a kiss.”
Faith laughed, joy bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her chest. “I think that can be arranged.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, turning back to her microphone, “that’s Dr. Faith Hartwell signing off for this year and signing on for the next. Here’s to second chances, new beginnings, and the courage to love without reservations. Happy New Year.”
Faith ripped off her headphones and ran.
She took the elevator down to the parking garage, her heart pounding with anticipation. The doors opened, and there he was—Jake Murphy, leaning against her newly repaired black Audi, holding a single red rose and wearing the kind of smile that made her knees weak.
“Waiting in Dallas?” she asked, walking toward him with a grin.
“Always,” he said, pushing off from the car to meet her halfway. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
When he kissed her, Faith’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He backed her against the car, his body caging her in as the kiss deepened. He tasted of midnight coffee and something darker—anticipation, maybe, or the kind of hunger that had been building between them for months.
Her hands found the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as he deepened the kiss. She could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse where her thumb pressed against his throat, could taste the sharp intake of breath he took when she traced her tongue along his bottom lip.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Jake pressed his forehead against hers. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, and she could feel him trembling.
“Welcome home, Dr. Hartwell,” he whispered. Faith’s fingers were still twisted in his shirt. She tugged gently, bringing his mouth back to hers.
“Home isn’t a place anymore, Jake Murphy,” she murmured against his lips. “Home is wherever you are.”