Page 13 of Too Broken to Love

She tried to smile at the tall, lean man behind the wheel. “Do you have a first-aid kit up there?”

Malcolm reached in the glovebox and handed her a red pouch.

“Thanks.” She opened it and rummaged through the contents. “Sam talked about you all the time. And about how he, and your grandfather, and Ralphie met in…”

She pressed her fist to her mouth. “Oh, God. We need to call Ralphie.”

Malcolm tapped the dashboard.

Ralphie picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Malcolm. How the hell are you?”

“I’m in the car with Hudson and…” Malcolm’s voice cracked. “And Tessa.”

“Hudson’s home? And Tessa’s there?”

She opened her mouth to say hello. A squeaky sob she felt more than heard slipped out instead. Dropping her hand, she reached for Hudson’s. He didn’t look at her as he wrapped his calloused fingers around her in tenuous solidarity.

“Ralphie, Pop was in a car accident.” Hudson closed his eyes. “He didn’t survive.”

Ralphie’s cry punched through the speakers. The sound tore at something inside her as Hudson offered Ralphie a quick, strained explanation and a promise to meet him at the house later.

Tessa didn’t have time to swallow back her tears before Hudson glared at her.

“Now tell me who the fuck Frank is.”

The truth banged against her ribs along with her heartbeat. As she pulled in a deep breath, she prayed she wouldn’t be alone after she let it out of its cage. “Frank is my father.”

Hudson went utterly still. “Frank is your what?”

Tessa wished she could swallow the words back. “I don’t consider him my father anymore, but I unfortunately carry his DNA.”

“And you think he murdered Pop?”

“No, but I do think he’s involved somehow.”

The deep furrows in Hudson’s forehead eased. Relief, maybe? Her tension didn’t back off at all. She shouldn’t have let her guard down. It didn’t matter if the constant worry she used as prayer, or a shield, wasn’t healthy.

Frank was in Belmarva.

She felt it in her bones.

Hudson gripped the back of Malcolm’s seat as he angled toward her. “What makes you think Pop’s crash wasn’t an accident?”

“Sam was a careful driver. Always. And he never drank and drove. Swerving off the road doesn’t make sense. And the airbag didn’t deploy, which is suspicious.”

Hudson nodded, considering her words like a battle brief. His tears had dried, but the strain in his brow reappeared deeper this time. She fought the urge to rip her seat belt off and hug him until he broke.

“And where does your father fit into this?”

“I don’t call him father any longer.” She opened a tube of antiseptic. “He doesn’t deserve to be called that by anyone.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Where does Frank fit into this?”

“I thought I saw him on the boardwalk this morning. It wasn’t him, but a butterscotch wrapper blew past my feet. Same brand he’s eaten since I was a kid. Another wrapper was stuck to the pants leg of the cop who looked for Sam’s fish.”

Understanding lit Hudson’s eyes. “Pop can’t eat butterscotch because of his⁠—”

“Allergy.” She finished treating Hudson and sat back.