Page 37 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
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 naïve 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.”
