Page 2 of Too Broken to Love

Holy fucking mother of God.

Melted bits of the dead SEAL’s face shield fused with his blackened cheeks and hollowed eyes. Hudson jerked away from his mangled features, gagging.

He locked the flashlight beam on his target. “Vitals?”

“Crashing.”

Hudson squashed a jolt of alarm as the lieutenant rattled off treatment.

“Good. Stay with me.” Hudson stepped over another dead SEAL. He didn’t look for the rest of the team. He’d been called to deliver the survivor back to base.

Alive.

Relief hit hard and fast as he locked his attention on the wounded. The survivor didn’t appear charred to a husk like the others.

The floor creaked to Hudson’s right. A pile of rubble erupted in flames. Dropping fast, he crashed to his side. His ribs snapped. Breathing through the agony, he rolled. His back smashed into the wounded SEAL. A jolt of pain speared through his torso. Jumping to a crouch, he fought dizziness and focused on a piece of cindered wood at his feet.

No, not wood—an arm. Bulky and blackened from the fingertips up to the blood and gore seeping from the vacant shoulder socket.

Vomit erupted up his esophagus. He swallowed it as he whipped his head to the survivor.

No. No.

Hudson dropped to his knees next to his old friend.

Lieutenant Commander Chris Daviani thrashed in tormented unconsciousness. “Help. Don’t leave me.”

“It’s me. Hudson. I’ve got you.” He slung off his backpack and tore open the zipper, the sight of Chris bleeding out thrusting him back to last month. Over a beer, Chris had detailed the impending collapse of his marriage in an uncharacteristic display of raw vulnerability. Watching him bleed out drove home how the job didn’t just break bodies, it broke lives.

Gunshots from the east yanked him back to the fight. Adrenaline kicked through his screaming ribs as he pulled out supplies and barked orders to the lieutenant. He couldn’t put Chris back together, but he would make damn well sure his buddy lived. They both would, if the fight didn’t break Hudson first.

Broken men didn’t get to go home. Didn’t get to fish with their grandfathers. Didn’t get to meet women like Tessa who stole men’s hearts.

Tessa grabbed a bottle of water from her neighbor’s fridge and closed the door. The photo of Sam’s grandson pinned near the handle caught her eye, and not because Dr. Hudson Langley was hot enough to short-circuit the East Coast. She sent up a prayer for his safe return home every time she raided Sam’s fridge.

Grabbing her running jacket, she hurried through the living room. As she stepped onto the porch, she spotted, Lia, backlit by the rising sun at the corner across from the boardwalk.

Tessa jogged toward her best friend. As she stepped off the curb, a man shooed away seagulls with a newspaper in her periphery. A flash of gray, scraggly hair tied in a ponytail snagged her attention and she stumbled.

Lia grabbed her forearm. “Whoa.”

“I’m…” Tessa fought to breathe, her five-foot-five frame dwarfed by Lia’s long, athletic silhouette. “I’m okay.”

But she wasn’t.

She bent forward at the waist and braced her hands on her knees. A gold foil candy wrapper blew between her feet. Unease built with the whiff of butterscotch. Straightening, she squinted at the sixty-ish-looking man who’d almost made her face-plant into the boardwalk.

A dingy baseball cap obscured his features, but his smooth gait confirmed it wasn’t Frank. He consumed that brand of butterscotch like an addict, though.

He’s in Belize. Not here.

God, she hoped that was true. Was it too much to ask for him to fall into the ocean and get devoured by sharks? Even though he didn’t go near the water, a girl could hope.

“That’s not him.” Lia grabbed Tessa’s hand and pulled the elastic from her ponytail, copper highlights glinting through her straight blonde mane as it tumbled past her shoulders. “Coffee is just what you need to stop seeing trouble that isn’t there.”

“Coffee sounds divine. Did you see Sam? He wasn’t at the house.”

“No. He’s probably up here somewhere.”