by M. H. Soars
Table of Contents
Also by M. H. Soars
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Sneak Peek of Booty
Author’s Note
About the Author
Devils Don’t Fly
Love Me, I’m Famous Book 4
M. H. Soars
Contents
Also by M. H. Soars
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Sneak Peek of Booty
Author’s Note
About the Author
Devils Don’t Fly © 2017 by M. H. Soars
* * *
Visit my website:
www.mhsoars.com
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Editor: Hot Tree Editing
www.hottreeediting.com
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Cover Design: M. H. Soars
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also by M. H. Soars
Crossing Time
Wonderwall
Sugar, We’re Going Down
Wreck of the Day
One
Saylor
I blink a few times as I stare at the complete stranger my mother just announced as my husband. My head feels like it’s filled with cotton candy and nothing makes any sense. There’s a huge gap in my memories, and I think I’ll go crazy if I try to put the pieces back together now. Still, I stare at the man hovering between the bed and the door, uncertain of what he should do. He’s attractive, just the type of guy I would usually go for, but I feel absolutely nothing as I look at him. I wait for my heart to tell me what my brain can’t, but it doesn’t respond. It’s indifferent.
God, if I married him, I must have loved him. I feel like the worst person in the world. I can’t remember anything about Oliver, the tall blond with the angst-filled eyes. What if I never recover my missing memories? What if I never remember our life together?
“I’m sorry. I can’t, I… it’s just too much.”
His face falls and my heart constricts in guilt. He turns to the doctor and asks him what the next steps are. I half listen to what they’re saying, having a hard time concentrating on anything at the moment.
“When can I take her home?” my husband—it’s so odd to even think that word—asks.
“Uh, considering she can’t remember you, shouldn’t she come home with me?” my mother intervenes, looking at me in search of support.
Shit, I hope this doesn’t turn into a battle of wills. I don’t think I can pick a side right now.
“Well, my advice is for Saylor to return to her former routine. It will be beneficial if she goes home with her husband. Her brain is still recovering from surgery, so it might only take a small object or a word to trigger the return of her memories.”
Mom’s lips become a thin flat line. She’s not pleased about this situation at all. It seems our relationship has somehow mended during the time lapse I can’t remember. I look in Liv and Sebastian’s direction. Bas has his arm around her shoulder and she’s hugging him by the waist. When did they get back together? My head begins to pound thanks to the infinite questions bouncing in there.
“I still think she should spend a few days with me first.” My mother turns to Oliver. “She doesn’t remember you. Would you force her to live with a stranger?”
I know Mom didn’t mean to twist the dagger deeper, but that’s what her words are doing.
Oliver rubs his face before his gaze searches mine. “If you’d prefer to go with your mum, I’d understand.”
The accent. I just caught on to it. He has a beautiful British accent, and my heart warms a little for reasons I don’t yet understand. Is it remembering? I stare at him intently, trying to absorb every single detail of his tall frame, of his perfect face. I want to know how we met. How long did we date before we got married? Did we have a big party or just a small reception? The hole in my memory seems so big and dark, I’m afraid to look closer. A part of me wants to go home with Mom, because she’s right. Oliver is a stranger to me. I can’t make this decision right now.
“I’d like some time to think about it,” I finally say, watching the glimmer of hope in Oliver’s eyes fade a bit. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, sugar.” He gives me a tight smile.
I frown. Why does he call me ‘sugar’ instead of ‘Blue’ like most of my close friends? Is there a meaning behind the endearment? Stop it, Saylor. You’ll give yourself an aneurism.
The thought gives me pause. Why am I in a hospital in the first place? The side of my head itches and I raise my hand to it, feeling a bandage there.
“What happened to me?”
“You had a blood clot in your brain,” Dr. Laurent answers. “We performed surgery to remove it, you were in a coma for three weeks.
“Three weeks?”
“Yes, but don’t be alarmed. That’s quite normal.”
I try to bring my hands together to wriggle my fingers, but
only my right hand cooperates. The left arm stays there, unmoving. I can’t even feel it. I focus on moving a finger, any finger, and I barely twitch one. What the hell. I pinch my forearm and there’s no pain.
“Sugar—I mean Saylor, what are you doing?” Oliver has moved closer to the bed, frowning at my useless limb.
“I can’t feel my left arm.”
“Doc?” He turns to Dr. Laurent.
The gray-haired doctor comes closer and does a series of examinations by touch. He asks me to try to move my legs as well. The right works fine. I have trouble with the left. It’s numb, but when the doctor probes, I feel something at least.
“Why can’t I move my left arm and leg?” I ask.
“Like I said before, the brain is a very complex organ and yours is still mending. You have some sensitivity on your leg, which is a good sign. You have no speech impairment, which tells me not all of your left side has been affected. That’s very, very good news. I’m sure with physical therapy, you will be able to use your limbs again.”
“I play the guitar, or I used to. Will I be able to do that again?”
“It’s possible, but I can’t guarantee it.”
First the memory loss, now this. There’s a sudden weight on my chest, caving it in. With my good hand, I massage the spot. My eyes begin to prickle. I don’t want to cry—not in front of everyone, anyway.
I feel a light touch on my right shoulder and I look up.
“We’ve got this.” Oliver smiles at me, but it’s pained. He must be having such a shitty day too. I want to return that smile, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I’m so drained, and yet I don’t want to sleep. I just spent three weeks dead to the world. What I want, what I need, is to get out of this hospital and discover what I’ve done with my life during the time I went and got myself a husband.
OLIVER
I don’t know yet how I should feel. Saylor has come back to me, and yet she hasn’t. My mind is spinning like a top. When Dr. Laurent walks out of Saylor’s room, I follow him.
“Doc, may I have word?”
“Certainly. Let’s go to my office.”
I follow the man, barely paying any attention to my surroundings. I keep thinking about Saylor’s indifferent gaze as she looked at me, the anguish on her face when she discovered she couldn’t move her left arm.
The doctor stops in front of the elevator and we wait for it in silence. He must sense I don’t have the mind for small talk. The metal doors finally open, spewing a handful of people from the elevator. A young girl glances at me as she walks by and her eyes widen when she recognizes me.
“Oh my gosh. It’s Oliver Best.”
Without a word or a smile, I slip inside the elevator. I can’t play the gracious celebrity right now. Dr. Laurent follows me and I sigh in relief when the doors shut again before the girl can recover from her shock and ask for an autograph.
“Will she ever get her memories back?” I blurt out.
“Possibly.”
I clench my jaw and refrain from asking anything else until we’re inside Dr. Laurent’s office. ‘Possibly’ is not a good enough answer to me.
Once off the elevator, we walk for another minute before we arrive at our destination. Dr. Laurent takes his seat behind an immaculate desk and I sit opposite him.
“What are the next steps, Doc?”
“We’ll keep Saylor here for observation for a few more days. If there are no issues, she can go home with you and start physical therapy sessions right away. Due to the memory loss, I recommend that she see a psychiatrist as well.”
“Do you think she should go home with her mother? Be honest.”
“I think Saylor should decide that without pressure from anyone.”
“I would never pressure her to do something she didn’t want to.” My reply has more bite than I intended.
“I wasn’t referring to you.”
I shift on my seat and rub my face. Miss Carter and I will need to have a conversation. I shove that thought to the side for now.
“What if Saylor never recovers her memories? What if she never remembers me?”
Dr. Laurent leans back in his chair and links his hands together. He watches me closely for a moment before replying, “Then you’ll have to make your wife fall in love with you all over again.”
Two
Saylor
I’ve been staring at my useless hand for ten minutes, willing it to move, when I hear a knock on the door. I look up and find Liv’s ex-boyfriend standing there.
“Derek!”
“Hi, Blue. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
He walks in, smiling from ear to ear while carrying a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“I brought something to brighten up this room. I know you hate hospitals.”
“Thank you.”
I make a motion for the bouquet, but only one arm cooperates. My smile wilts and Derek notices the shift in my expression.
“What’s the matter?”
“Didn’t Dr. Laurent fill you in?”
“No. He can’t. All he said was you were awake. I would’ve come visit you sooner, but… well I figured I should wait until your closest friends had a chance first.”
“You didn’t want to bump into Liv, huh?”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or her husband. So, what’s going on with you, Blue?”
The air exits my lungs in a loud exhale. “Well, I can’t remember what happened to me in the past year. I have a husband who is a complete stranger to me. I can’t move my left arm or leg. Shall I continue?”
“Partial memory loss is quite normal. I’m sure you’ll recover your memories. Give it time. And with physical therapy, you’ll be back playing your guitar in no time.”
“Do you really believe so?” I can’t help the hopeful tone in my voice.
“I do.”
“I have my first physical therapy session today. I don’t know what to expect.”
“You’ll do great. What time? Maybe I can join you for moral support.”
Mom and Oliver had offered the same thing, but I told both of them no. I don’t want either present when I struggle with my partial paralysis. I think Mom is the most upset with my refusal. Oliver is just going with the flow, trying his best not to show emotion when I do or say something that’s probably upsetting the hell out of him.
“I don’t know….”
“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.” Derek gives me a cheeky smile.
“A little.”
He rolls his eyes, something so out of character for him that it makes my giggle.
“Who’s your therapist?”
“Dr. Makamoto, I believe.”
“No way!”
“What? Do you him?”
“Oh, I know her. We went to school together. She’s a drill sergeant. Trust me. You’ll want me there.”
“Already talking trash about me, Dr. Simmons?” A female voice by the door has me looking over Derek’s shoulder. A petite brunette is standing there with a medical chart in her hand.
“Since when is speaking the truth considered trash talking?”
Dr. Makamoto ventures into the room with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Ignore Dr. Simmons. He’s always been a bit soft.”
Derek crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches Dr. Makamoto through slits. “Soft?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Enough about you. Hi, Saylor. I’m Dr. Makamoto, but you can call me Cheryl.”
“Hi.”
Cheryl peers down at the chart in her hand, scanning through the document quickly, before looking at me again. “Still no sensation in your left arm and leg yet, huh?”
“Nope.”
The doctor shakes her head. “We can’t have that. We gotta get you playing your guitar again ASAP. I need more Wreck of the Day songs.”
My eyebrows arch as my jaw drops. “You know my band?”
“Sweet girl,
the entire country knows your band. Didn’t your friends fill you in yet?”
“A little. I think everyone is afraid to dump too much information on me at once.”
“Well, once we’re done with our session, maybe I can tell you all about Wreck of the Day from a fan’s perspective.” She smiles before she claps her hands with a resounding smack. “Now, let’s get cranking.”
I manage to get to the wheelchair with minimal help. Derek made a move to assist, but I leveled him with a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look and he backed down. As Cheryl whirls me through the sterile hospital corridors, I can’t help the accelerated drumming of my heartbeat. I’m worried I won’t be able to do anything today.
The therapy room is a wide space, cheery and bright with large windows that give a nice view of the city. I hadn’t realized we were so high up. Several weird-looking pieces of equipment are spread throughout the room, some that look like they would belong in a gym, others in a torture chamber.
A few patients are here, already grinding and grunting. My stomach twists into impossible knots. I expected to find the room empty, and the added audience is making me queasy. Cheryl parks my chair close to a set of parallel bars I recognize from TV. I’ve been filling my days watching daytime soap operas and it seems half the time, the characters are in a hospital recovering from a tragic accident.
“You’re joking, right?” I say, glaring at the bars.
Cheryl puts her hands on her hips with pursed lips and a deep frown. “You only have one leg that doesn’t work. This should be a walk in the park for you.”
I turn my ‘drop dead’ gaze in her direction. “I haven’t walked in over a month!”
“Your laziness is not my concern.”
My jaw drops of its own accord. “Laziness?” I turn to Derek. “Is she for real?”
He doesn’t need to answer, the smirk on his lips and the glint of amusement in his eyes are enough. No wonder he wanted to join my session.
Cheryl grabs my right arm and pulls me up. “Come on. Quit stalling. You’ll get an hour with me no matter how late we start. I don’t have any appointments after you.”
