Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

There’s nothing to do out here but stew in the idea that I’m trapped in Angel Bay. There’s barely a cell signal, I can’t get around and I can’t drive yet.

Perfect.

Oh, and add to that that the girl who is sharing my cottage wants to have strings-free sex with me and for some reason, I turned her down.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m just going to blame it on the pain pills. They’ve addled my brain.

With a groan, I push myself out of the chair I’m in and hobble toward the door, my crutches scraping on the floor.

“Where are you going?” Nora asks curiously as she walks from the laundry room to the living room with a load of fresh laundry in her arms.

“Fishing.”

Nora starts to laugh until she sees that I’m serious.

“Fishing?”

I nod. “I can’t do anything else. But I can sure as hell sit on a pier.”

Nora stares at me for a second, then sits the laundry basket down, trailing behind me.

I pause and look at her. “Where are you going?”

She grins up at me. “Fishing. I’ve never been.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve lived in Angel Bay every summer of your life and you’ve never been fishing?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. There was no one to take me. My father would rather die than bait a hook, it held no interest for my mother, and our gardener Julian liked to go alone. He did all kinds of other stuff with me, but fishing was his quiet time. So… no. I’ve never been.”

“That seems like a travesty,” I tell her as I turn back around. I eye the distance from here to the shed outside, to the edge of the pier. It seems like a hundred fucking miles with these crutches.

“Well, then. End the madness for me,” she chirps cheerfully by my side. “Actually, I’ll meet you out there. I’m going to get a suit on.”

“Take your time.”

Because it will take me a hundred years to get situated.

Fuck.

She does take her time. Because it takes me twenty minutes to hobble to the shed, find a couple of poles and a bait-box and then drag all of that stuff to the

end of the pier. All while on crutches.

I feel quite accomplished as I drop it all, then sit on the edge, carefully dangling my feet over the board pier. It hurts to bend my knee, of course, but not as much as it did yesterday.

That’s progress, damn it.

I’m baiting a hook with a lure when Nora comes prancing down the pier in a pair of heels and a bikini so tiny it might as well not be there. I stifle a groan as she leans down next to me, making sure to stick her ass out as she does.

Her ass is perfectly rounded.

I look away as I cast my line.

Cold fish. Cold fish in the lake. Cold fish, cold fish.

“Want a pole?” I ask her, watching my bobber float on the surface of the water. Nora chuckles.

“Yes. Didn’t I make that clear last night?”