Chapter 52 Faithfully
faithfully
ROXANNE
Of course I didn’t sleep. Well, maybe I got a few hours and then tossed, turned, and paced through until morning.
I practiced my speech during my morning run, through breakfast, and during the cab ride to World Explorer HQ for wardrobe, hair, and makeup.
I barely hear what anyone is saying to me and am thankful that the man doing my makeup is not in the mood for small talk.
Leo saunters in looking impossibly handsome in a midnight blue Tom Ford tuxedo with subtle satin lapels and his blond hair styled in that effortless way of his.
“Wow,” I say as the woman finishes the bun she’s pulled my hair into with a crystal accessory. “You look like you’ve just stepped off the runway.”
Leo’s husband Marcus appears at his side, pressing a quick kiss to Leo’s cheek. “You look divine, Rox,” Marcus says, turning to straighten Leo’s bow tie with the practiced ease of someone who’s been doing it for years.
“As do you,” I say as Marcus gives me two air kisses.
“Where is Alison?” Leo asks, looking at his watch.
“Here!” she calls, breezing in and plopping down in the makeup chair next to me. Her grin is almost overtaking her face. She looks radiant in a Jenny Packman deep emerald silk gown with a sweetheart neckline that perfectly complements her chestnut hair and her copper eyes.
“What happened?” Leo starts. “Did that man at the donut cart slip you an extra one this morning?”
Allie laughs as her makeup artist gets to work. “Had a long FaceTime with Wyatt.”
“Oh yes, Wyatt “Topper” Westin,” Marcus says, taking a seat in an empty chair. “I have loved hearing about him from Leo. How did he get his nickname?”
“Duke said it Topper was the kind of soldier who never asked his men to do anything he wouldn’t do first,” Allie says.
“Always led from the front, always on top of every situation. Guys started calling him Topper because he topped everyone else’s performance.
Whatever it took to win, he was crazy enough to do it, and he would still come out on top. ”
“He’s the best,” I add. “Are you two going to try long distance?”
The corner of her mouth tugs up, and she shrugs. “I think so … I don’t know. He’s going to come out in a couple weeks.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say.
The hair and makeup team finishes their final sprays and touch-ups, and the staff at HQ waves us out with a chorus of “you’ve got this!
” as we head to the car. By the time we’re weaving through traffic toward Midtown, my pulse is a trapped animal.
I latch onto Leo’s hand like it’s a lifeline, and he gently pries his fingers free with a soft laugh.
When one of my favorite places in New York comes into view, I feel some relief from the anxiety stomping around in the pit of my stomach. My silk dress clings in the August heat as we step into Lincoln Center. The marble glitters, the crowd hums, and my stomach twists.
The air conditioning is soothing, and I guzzle my champagne as I sit through the start of the other presentations.
My heart sinks as the next presenter takes the stage with her ambassador—a coal miner’s widow whose quiet dignity fills the entire hall.
Every other team has an ambassador. Everyone but me.
Shit. Have I screwed this up before I’ve started?
The stage lights seem too bright, the applause too loud. When Allie nudges me because it’s our time to line up backstage, it takes her a few tries to move me from the cement that has pooled at my feet.
Allie puts her hands on my shoulders and swings me around to face her. “You got this, okay? We’ll be right beside you. Just tell the story of the summer, and it’s ours.”
I swallow hard and nod as a backstage assistant ushers us onstage after we’ve been introduced. My hands quake as I reach the podium and flip through the binder that contains my speech. My ears feel hot. Two hundred people wait for me to speak, and all I can do is stare into the lights.
“Roxanne,” Leo whispers. “You can do this.”
I nod and smile, nod and smile, and then …
“On July 24th, 2023, I was struck by lightning in the mountains of Colorado and almost died.” I glance up when faint gasps and whispers sound through the audience.
“Before the accident, I traveled the world as a writer and journalist for World Explorer magazine …
after … I barely left my apartment. I went from the woman who wanted to conquer the world to the woman who was afraid of everything.
“When my editor told my team and I our assignment was to embed ourselves at Firebird Ranch nestled in Marble Valley, Colorado, I thought my heart almost stopped beating. I did not want to return to the place that caused me so much pain. But I went anyway, although I was not prepared for the trip.
“When I first arrived, I was skeptical of their practices. You see, Firebird doesn’t believe in numbing the pain with pills or masking trauma with distractions. Their mission is simple and revolutionary: feel in order to heal.”
I draw in a long breath, drink some water, and continue.
“That sounds great, right? I, however, was not convinced. How could nature walks and equine therapy heal someone? Well, I saw the proof myself that they can. I saw the proof in me. At Firebird, I met veterans who had lost everything—hope, purpose, sometimes even limbs, but they were learning to live again with the help of nature and, of course, the staff of Firebird, who all have been on their own healing journeys.”
I pause again, not sure I can get the next part out.
“Standing at the center of every breakthrough was the man who refused to let anyone give up on themselves … Duke Faraday.”
I cough into my hand because my throat feels like a sheet of sandpaper.
“Duke … um … Duke Faraday doesn’t just run Firebird Ranch, he is the heart that beats through every program, every conversation, every moment when someone chooses hope over surrender.
He’s the kind of man who sees broken people and doesn’t turn away.
He’s the man who builds … something beautiful from ashes. I …”
Oh no, are you kidding me? Tears? Now?
Oh, yes. The ugly tears are coming, pushing at the backs of my eyes.
I blink hard, trying to hold it together, when the lights in the theater suddenly dim. I glance up and then back at Leo and Allie, who just shrug. Leo peeks behind the curtain to call for an assistant to figure out what’s happening with the lights.
Murmurs drift through the crowd, and my stomach flips when the bold and unmistakable opening notes of Journey’s “Faithfully” begin to play through the sound system.
Oh.
My.
God.
All the air leaves my lungs in a rush. I know that song. I know what it means, and when I look toward the back of the theater, I see him.
Duke Faraday, in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, walking slowly down the center aisle like he owns the place.
His eyes never leave mine and his smile could light the room if all the other bulbs suddenly went out at once.
As he reaches the stage, my knees threaten to buckle as every nerve ending in my body lights up like I’ve been plugged into a socket.
“And here he is … the man behind it all … Duke Faraday, everyone,” I say, my arms motioning him toward the podium as the ballroom erupts in applause.
“How?” I whisper as Duke slips his hand around my waist and kisses me on the cheek.
“My brother gave me a ride,” he replies.
I look to the back of the ballroom to see Charlie Steele waving from the shadows. I find myself waving, and I want to say so many things at once, but Duke takes his place at the podium like he does this every day.
“Thank you, everyone, and thank you for giving Firebird Ranch this chance.” Duke shuffles some notes around on the podium, and I can’t help but stare.
My heartbeat has slowed, but it’s still keeping up a good pace.
It’s amazing how just standing next to him comforts me.
How the sound of his voice puts me immediately at ease.
“Firebird Ranch is my life’s work. I’m a veteran, and I know what it feels like to come home from war only to discover that the hardest battle is the one you fight inside your own head.”
His voice grows quieter.
“Every person who walks through our gates carries invisible wounds. At Firebird, we believe that the only way out is through. You do have to feel to heal.”
He looks out at the audience, and it’s as if time has stopped.
Duke continues, and Leo cues images to coincide with what Duke is saying as he discusses some of the veterans and their journeys, like Thatcher, Stedman, Millie, Georgia, and even Topper. As he brings the pitch to a close, no wall I’ve built inside myself can contain my tears.
“The story I’m telling you about Firebird Ranch isn’t just a story about healing,” he continues, glancing at me.
“It’s also a love story. It’s a story about a woman who was brave enough to face her fears, and a man who was finally brave enough to follow his heart.
As I stand before you now, there’s two things for which I’m certain: I am a man who found his purpose in those mountains and found his heart in the woman standing beside me. ”
He then bows his head slightly. “Thank you.”
The crowd cheers, claps, and one by one, they begin to stand. Leo thanks Duke and the audience and begins to introduce his contribution, which gives Duke and I time to slip backstage. The second we’re out of sight of the cameras, I don’t wait for words, I launch myself into his arms.
His arms wrap around me so completely I disappear into him.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.
He smells exactly like I remember, clean soap and cedar, with that hint of mountain air that seems permanently woven into his skin.
His hand moves in slow circles against my back, and I realize I’m shaking.
Not from nerves anymore, but from relief so overwhelming it threatens to melt my bones.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say into his shoulder.
“Well, you left something behind in Colorado, Trouble. Wanted to return it to you.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “What’s that?”
“Me.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Duke, I didn’t know how else to … I just … I could never ask you to give up the ranch for me. I need you, but the ranch needs you more and—”
He silences me with a kiss, deep and loving and sending every nerve in me over the edge. When we pull away, our foreheads are still touching. “You know, I really flew all this way just to tell you, you were wrong.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” he says, kissing me again. “Turns out, people can fall in love in one summer.”
“Really?”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’re not in love with me, Roxanne.”
This time, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him, slow, gentle, and deliberate, but with enough heat that a soft moan escapes him.
“No, I’m not going to tell you that.”
He clears his throat and gives his tux jacket a tug. “Good, oh and I wanted to bring you the other thing you forgot.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar envelope.
I take it, but I already know it’s full of all the notes he left me all those lovely mornings waking up in his house. “Thank you.”
“I tucked a new one in there,” he says.
I open it and pull out a few notes stuck together.
I love you, Roxanne.
We’re going to make this work, no matter the miles between us. What we’ve built doesn’t end with summer, it just starts a new chapter.
I bring my hand to my mouth as I’m both laughing and crying.
Crying because of what it says, laughing because he drew an arrow and on the back of the note there’s a house with a curly cue of smoke, and two stick figures holding hands with a dog in between them.
“The artistry here … your drawing has really evolved.”
“I know,” he says, craning his neck to admire his fine work.
“I only have one question,” I say, bringing the envelope to my heart.
He wraps his arms around me again. “Anything.”
“Did you bring the chaps with you?”
“I’m wearing them underneath my pants.”
I dissolve into laughter, and he kisses me again as the sound of applause drifts from the stage.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
He grins, that slow smile that made me fall for him in the first place. “Now we write the rest of our story. Together.”