The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory) Page 2

  Mia and Sam chatted while we climbed back to the house and then took the grand tour of what my heartache had bought me. Bedrooms, bathrooms—it all needed to be overhauled.

  “Well?” I asked as the girls took stock of the kitchen.

  “Honest opinion?” Mia leaned against one of the Formica counters.

  “Of course.”

  She and Sam shared a glance.

  “What?”

  “We need to call Joey,” Mia said.

  “Joey, as in your sister?” I asked.

  She nodded. “She manages Masters & Co.”

  “The family boat-building business,” Sam clarified.

  “That’s right. You guys build racing boats or something, right?” I hated that I wasn’t as familiar with Grayson’s family as I should have been, seeing as I’d met them a couple years ago.

  “Or something,” Mia said with a smirk. “But Joey knows all the reputable contractors in the OBX. She’ll be able to give you a good list to start with…unless you were thinking you’d head to the hardware store and start ripping stuff out yourself?” Her eyes widened. “Please say that’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Kind of.” I shrugged at the horrified looks on both their faces.

  “Oh, Morgan. Not only no, but hell no. You’re not…” Sam motioned to the house. “I know you’re a huge HGTV fan, but this is not in your wheelhouse, and I say that with all the love in my heart.”

  “At least the structural stuff needs to be handled by professionals,” Mia urged. “Remodeling on the beach is tricky.”

  My stubbornness softened at the plea in their eyes. What harm could getting a few bids on the bigger projects be?

  “Fine. Call Joey. Whatever I can’t do myself, I’ll hire contractors for. Sound good?”

  “Yep.”

  “Absolutely.”

  …

  A couple hours later, Mia had gone in search of pizza, and Sam, tequila.

  I, on the other hand, was on a quest for the lights. The sun would set in a couple of hours, and I wasn’t going to unload what little I had brought with me with only half the lights on.

  I flipped through the file the real estate agent had left for me in the kitchen. “Secondary breaker in the garage,” I read aloud. Why in the hell would someone put another breaker box there? Maybe Sam and Mia were right; I’d at least need a contractor for the electrical work.

  There was probably another half hour before the girls got back, which meant if I found that box quickly, we could have the whole house lit.

  I rushed out my front door, not bothering to close it, and raced down the steps, jumping to the landing—

  SNAP.

  The sound registered in my brain about a millisecond before I plummeted through the landing. I shrieked, throwing out my arms to catch my weight on the remaining platform. My boobs took the rest of the impact as they slammed against the edge of the hole I’d made with my lower half.

  Blinding pain ripped through me as my body scraped to a halt, but I didn’t fall through.

  The sound that left my mouth was anything but ladylike. Holy shit, it hurt. Fire raced up my sides from thighs to ribs, and I was pretty sure my full Ds were going to mutiny back to an A-cup, or just fall right off.

  I took a few breaths to steady my heart, praying the pain would subside, and then struggled to get my elbows under me. Maybe I could lift just a little…nope.

  You have to be fucking kidding me.

  There was no moving. None. Nada. Zip. I was firmly wedged in a hole of my own making without enough leverage to hoist myself out.

  A huff of self-deprecating laughter slipped free. Talk about a metaphor for my life. Will would have laughed his smug little ass off.

  “Yeah, I bet you think this is hilarious and symbolic or some nonsense,” I muttered, slipping into the familiar pattern of talking to him when I was alone.

  I swiveled my legs as far as I dared, hoping to find some purchase, but came into contact with nothing. Of course not. I was easily seven or eight feet off the ground here.

  Not deadly. Just annoying. Humiliating, if I was still here by the time Sam and Mia got back. Way to prove that I’d be totally fine out here on my own. I hadn’t even made it through one day.

  I jiggled a bit and tried to squeeze my girls down through the opening.

  Ouch. That wasn’t happening. What skin wasn’t already raw from the scrape was protesting the pressure from the remaining boards.

  The sound of footsteps caught my attention, and I looked over to my neighbor’s deck to see a little red-haired girl skipping down her stairs toward me.

  She had that kindergarten look about her—all round cheeks and wide eyes. Around five years old was my best guess, which meant there had to be an adult home, too.

  “Oh, thank God. Hi, sugar, how are you?” I asked as she raced across the thirty feet or so between our houses.

  She paused shy of my staircase, her riot of curls stopping a second after the rest of her.

  “Hi. I’m not supposed to be out here alone, but I heard you yell. You’re stuck.” Her forehead puckered over big brown eyes as her southern accent dragged out that last word just like mine would have. Not a tourist. At least that meant the house next door wasn’t a vacation rental.

  “I am,” I admitted. “I’m Morgan, your neighbor.”

  Her eyes widened. “Our new neighbor? We had old ones. Really, really old ones. They didn’t get stuck.”

  I might have laughed if the wood against my ribs would have let my chest expand that far.

  “That’s who I bought the house from. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Finley. Daddy calls me Fin. Like a fish. Or a shark.” She wandered under the landing, and I lost sight of her.

  My feet stilled immediately. I wasn’t taking any chances I’d kick her on accident.

  “Hey, I like Hello Kitty, too!” She squealed in delight. “I have the boring Saturday undies on today, but that’s because I don’t like the Sunday ones. They’re green.”

  “Hello Kitty…” Oh. My. God. I assessed my situation more carefully, seeing fabric pooled beneath my breasts in a way it shouldn’t be. And that breeze? Oh no. No, no, no.

  Earth, just swallow me up right now. Right now.

  “You’re really heavy, Miss Morgan!” Bless her little soul, she tried to push my feet up, but I didn’t budge.

  “I’m sure feeling that way, Fin. Can you do me a favor?”

  She emerged and looked up at me, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re really stuck in there. I’ll get Dad’s saw.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary! But really, so kind of you to offer. Do you think you could get your mama for me?” Please, God. There was no way I was going to wait another minute stuck in this damned staircase, flashing everyone on Cape Hatteras. Nope. No way. Hello Kitty needed to say good-bye.

  “No.” The girl shrugged, walking away.

  “No?” I questioned, sure my eyes were about to pop out of my head.

  “She lives in California.”

  “Oh—”

  “But I’ll get my daddy. Don’t worry, he’s really good at rescuing people!” She raced up her deck stairs.

  “No! No, I’m okay! I’ll just wait for my friends!” I called out, but she’d already disappeared into her house.

  I blinked, hoping I’d wake up from this new take on the naked-at-school nightmare I was currently living. When that didn’t work, I resigned myself to the fact that I was about to meet my new neighbor.

  In my underwear.

  While literally wedged in my landing.

  So much for first impressions.

  Wait. Shit. I’d shaved my legs, but waxing had pretty much ceased since…well, a while ago. My landscaping habits had gone from meticulous to well…au naturel. I hadn’t given
it much consideration, or even cared until this very moment.

  This very inopportune moment.

  But my panties were boy-cut, so there was a prayer of a chance that everything would stay covered, right? Could this possibly get any worse?

  There had to be a limit on the amount of humiliation someone could endure.

  The screen door shut next door, and I bit my lower lip, the pain reminding me yet again that this was definitely not a dream.

  “Come on, Daddy!” Finley yelled.

  “I’m coming, honey,” a deep voice replied. The footsteps that followed down the steps were heavy, masculine.

  “It’s okay, Miss Morgan. I brought my daddy. He was showering, but now he’s not.”

  I opened my eyes to see Finley looking up at me with a smile, nodding her head enthusiastically.

  “Thank you, Finley.”

  A pair of bare feet appeared next to hers, attached to muscular legs that led to a pair of blue swimming trunks and then abs that disappeared as a white T-shirt slid over his stomach and a recognizable tattoo.

  I looked up into familiar, ocean-blue eyes and groaned.

  Oh God. Just strike me dead. Right now.

  It was Mr. Carolina.

  Apparently, there was not a limit on humiliation.

  Chapter Two

  Jackson

  Huh. Well, this was definitely not the way I’d planned on introducing myself to the new neighbor. It was like I’d stumbled into one of those magic acts where the girl was cut in half with a box…except this one sure didn’t seem like the willing-assistant type.

  Damn if she didn’t have the legs for it, though.

  “Okay,” I said mostly to myself, completing a quick assessment of the situation. She was wedged in the weak spot of the landing, the one I’d suggested Diane and Carl get fixed before they put the house on the market. Hell, I’d been begging them for years to fix it, thinking one of them would meet the same fate.

  I forced my gaze upward and found the profile of my new neighbor’s face as red as her Hello Kitty underwear, which was the only scrap of fabric between her exposed ribs and her toes. Underwear I definitely shouldn’t have seen…or taken notice of.

  But, in my defense, they were right there in my face.

  She’d taken out both horizontal planks, leaving the surrounding wood intact instead of splintering into her, but she’d definitely be feeling those abrasions and bruises up her sides for a while. Her ribs were scraped raw and bleeding slightly in places.

  “Finley, stay here, honey. I’m not sure it’s safe to come up the stairs.”

  After she nodded, I walked around the staircase and started up the steps, dropping to my knees a few steps beneath the landing, so I could look my very embarrassed neighbor in the eye. Well, I would once she stopped squeezing them shut.

  Oh, fuck me. She was the knockout from the beach earlier. The gorgeous one with the hair, and the eyes, and the sundress currently keeping her company above the landing.

  “Hey there,” I said softly.

  She opened one eye, then the other—like she was hoping I’d disappeared—and I was met with a stunning set of browns, dark at the edges, paling to amber at the centers, and framed by long, thick lashes. Every word I’d been about to speak evaporated from my head. Her eyes were as striking as she was, but there was something about them—a deep, lingering sadness that I bet had jack and shit to do with the predicament she was currently in. I’d seen a flash of it on the beach, but it was even more pronounced up close, and damn if it didn’t trigger a need to save her from whatever caused it, too.

  “Hi,” she answered, her southern accent thicker than honey.

  “Looks like you could use some help.” I concentrated on not swallowing my tongue. The phrase stunningly beautiful wasn’t new to me, but this was the first time I’d ever been actually…stunned.

  “I’m really okay,” she protested with the fakest smile I’d ever seen. It would have almost been comical if I hadn’t already seen her skin and how much pain she had to be in. “My girlfriends will be back any minute, so there’s really no reason to trouble yourself.”

  Whoa. Yeah, that accent was deeper than anything the natives spoke with around here, and twice as sexy as that Irish girl last summer who’d rented out the place next to Sawyer’s.

  “Trouble myself? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re kind of stuck in your staircase.”

  “It has not escaped my attention.” She kept that stubborn smile.

  “How badly does it hurt? Scale of one to ten?”

  Maybe it was because I’d softened my tone or the adrenaline was wearing off, but she sighed and dropped the pretense along with her shoulders.

  “Five? A little scraped, I think, but mostly just mortified. I’m sure I can pop right out of this—” She tried to push up on her forearms, and I cringed. “Or not.”

  “Careful, you skinned your ribs.”

  “Feels like it. Most of the pain is there, in my hips…and my dignity. But I can’t quite get a full breath.”

  “You are wedged pretty tight there, Kitty.” The nickname slipped off my tongue before I could stop it.

  She groaned, dropping her chin to her chest, and even the tips of her ears blushed pink. “Of all the things to be wearing. This is right up there with that one time my cheerleading skirt got tucked into my spankies,” she mumbled.

  “Spank…what?” I laugh-whispered to keep Finley from hearing.

  Her head popped up, and she rolled her eyes. “Spankies. They’re…you know—bloomers. They go under cheerleading skirts. I really wish I was wearing them right now, as a matter of fact.”

  And now that I had that image in my head…

  “Well, let’s get you out of this mess.” I scanned the landing, studying the other boards that looked ready to give way if I put any weight on them. “I don’t have the right angle to pull you out from here, and if we break any of those boards, we chance hurting you more. We’re going to have to lift you out. You good with that?”

  She pressed her full lips together in a tight line and nodded.

  “Let’s do it.” I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, then walked down the steps and under the landing, doing my best to ignore her mostly naked lower half hanging in my face. Chances were she was involved with whomever drove that lifted F250 parked by the old boathouse. It practically screamed alpha male from the size of the tires to the light rack. Takes one to know one.

  Not that it mattered. Anyone who lived next door or knew Finley was off the one-night-stand table, which was all I was capable of.

  Fin tripped over my feet, and I caught her by the waist before she smacked her head on the support pillar.

  “Fin, honey. Why don’t you give me some space, here? I don’t want to squash your toes.”

  Fin nodded, then scurried out from under my feet and retreated to the patio chairs that lined our section of the fence, eager to watch the show.

  I assessed the fingers-width of space I had between her ribs and the surrounding wood, and mentally cursed. She was a curved peg in a square hole.

  “Okay, you must have fallen at an angle. We’re going to have to maneuver you a little to get you through. Otherwise, you’ll get hung up on your…” ass, I mentally finished. Not that it wasn’t spectacular, but in this situation, it was definitely not helping her out.

  “Bottom?” she suggested.

  “Exactly.”

  “I might need you to give it a little push…there. I don’t have any leverage up here.”

  Can I borrow a cup of sugar?

  Do you have any extra plywood to board the windows?

  We’re headed out of town for the weekend, could you water the plants?

  In the nearly five years I’d owned my home, those were the kinds of things the Hatchers had asked. There had
never once been a “could you push my ass at the right angle so I can get out of the hardwood landing I’m stuck in” discussion. Ever.

  Looked like I was about to cross every neighborly boundary in the first five minutes of knowing this woman.

  I stepped out from under the landing and met her gaze. “Hey,” I repeated my earlier line.

  “Hey,” she echoed, but with a ghost of a smile.

  “I’m Jackson Montgomery. I figured I should probably introduce myself first.” Not that I ever introduced myself to any of the people I saved. I wasn’t the people person. That was Garrett’s job. “Friends call me Jax.”

  “Morgan Bartley. Pleasure to meet you.”

  Morgan. Perfect. Like my favorite rum, which had a lot in common with the color of her eyes. Eyes you’re not getting involved with, remember?

  “Excellent. Now I don’t have to keep calling you Kitty.”

  “It’s kind of growing on me, embracing the situation and all.” She laughed lightly. “Lots of worse things I could have been wearing, that’s for sure.”

  Crap. Not only was she gorgeous, but I liked her, too. Not many people I knew could keep their sense of humor in this kind of situation.

  “Okay, then, Kitty, here we go.” I headed back under the landing. Shit, she was streaked with bruises and scrapes from rib to hip to thighs. Only her waist and lower legs had escaped unscathed. “Ready?”

  “Reckon now is as good a time as any,” she called back.

  Without ceremony, I gripped her waist and lifted her.

  “Oompf.” The sound escaped as her ribs slid free of the landing barrier.

  “Better?” I settled her onto my left shoulder, careful to keep my forearm locked over the top of her thighs to avoid brushing her abused sides.

  “A little,” she answered. “I can get a full breath now. Thank you.”

  Seeing the new gap between her waist and the planks, I reached with my right hand and tugged gently on the fabric of her sundress, pulling it down in sections to give her as much modesty as I could offer.

  “Thank you,” she repeated, softer this time.

  “Take a second to catch your breath, and then we’ll lift you the rest of the way.” My head turned at the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. A small sedan parked between the enormous truck and the moving pod, then two women got out. One pale, holding a large pizza box, and the other one with a tawny complexion and a bottle of what looked to be tequila, both wide-eyed and slack-jawed.