Devils Don't Fly (Love Me, I'm Famous Book 4)

by M. H. Soars

  Just breathe, Saylor.

  I focus on inhaling and exhaling, and nothing else. It takes a while for my heartbeat to return to normal, for the urge to cry to subside. I don’t know why that particular song plays havoc with my emotions like that. Perhaps I should try writing a new one.

  I’ve always kept a notebook inside Rita’s case, and upon inspection, I see that it still holds true. As I pick it up, a folded piece of paper falls from inside. I set the notebook aside and unfold the loose sheet. My heart gets lodged in my throat. This is a work in progress, a new song I must have been working on right before the surgery. My eyes fill with tears as I read the verses. It’s like a window to my state of my mind then, to my feelings. And it’s also a love declaration to Oliver.

  Hastily, I fold the paper again, shoving it back inside the notebook. I’m not ready for it, not by a long shot.

  Let’s just focus on practicing, Saylor. I pick Rita up, propping her on my lap and connecting to the amps. I move my right arm slowly, placing my hand over the strings, but I can’t feel them. It’s like my fingers aren’t attached to my hand. I will them to move, to do anything, but they remain frozen there. Dropping my chin, I bite my lower lip in concentration.

  This is useless.

  A strand of hair falls in my face, tickling my nose. I try to blow the rebel wisp out of the way. It doesn’t work. Irritated, I set Rita aside and stand up with a jolt. On a table nearby, I spot the pair of scissors Remi used yesterday to open a box. I make a grab for them, veering toward the small bathroom just outside the studio. There’s a small mirror there just above the sink, and I hate the image reflected in it.

  Dr. Laurent has removed the stitches, but the shaved area is still very much visible under the longer strands covering the spot. I look fucking ridiculous. Without pausing to think, I part a section of my hair and chop it off. It’s a much harder task using only one hand, and the result is atrocious. I look worse than I did before. Dropping the scissors in the sink, I sit on the toilet and begin to cry. It’s ugly and loud, but who cares, right? There’s no one around to witness me crumble.

  “Saylor?”

  I wince when I hear my name. Of course, Oliver had to find me today of all days.

  “Go away.” I curl into a ball, giving my back to him so he can’t see my face.

  “No.” He grabs me by the shoulder and forces me to stand up to look at him. “I won’t let you shut me out anymore.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m a fucking mess. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

  “Get it into your thick head, sugar. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve made a promise to you, and God help me I’ll keep that promise, even if I have to fight you to do so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you. You’re the air I breathe. You bring light into my life.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he talks over me. “Yes, even in your darkest moments, you’re still my guiding star.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” I whisper, dropping my gaze.

  “Don’t ever repeat that. I’m the one unworthy of you.”

  I bring my eyes to his face again. He stares at me with such intensity, it robs me of air. This feels like a moment for something epic. I want to throw myself into his arms and kiss the hell out of him. But I just drop my gaze again and wipe my wet cheeks.

  “What were you trying to do?”

  “I got sick of my long hair.”

  Oliver makes a sound in the back of this throat, drawing my attention to him again. His gaze is glued to the scissors and the chunk of hair in the sink.

  “All right. Sit back down.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do as I say, sugar.” He grabs the scissors and stares me down until my ass is back on the toilet seat.

  Oliver runs his hands through my messy hair, dividing it in sections. “Sugar, promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever try to play hairdresser again. You suck balls.”

  “Shut up. Try cutting your hair using only one hand. What are you going to do?”

  “Even this mess out. Then I’m calling Monni.”

  “Who is Monni?”

  He chuckles. “Aw, sugar. I better not spoil it for you. Monni is someone you should meet without expectations.”

  “You’re making me curious, and that’s just plain mean.”

  His lips twist into a crooked smile and something shifts in my heart, as if a small piece lodged back into place.

  Oh my God. Am I remembering?

  Ten

  Oliver

  I can’t keep the grin off my face as I watch Saylor stare wide-eyed at Monni, the band’s stylist. He’s a little less flamboyant today, having paired a tight white button-down shirt with even tighter jeans. But it’s the fake orange tan and all the gold accessories that are probably making Saylor’s brain go haywire.

  We meet the man at an upscale hair salon in Beverly Hills, and after he finishes hugging and kissing Saylor a thousand times, he leaves us alone to talk with the hair stylist.

  Saylor yanks my arm, pulling me closer to her. “You hired that man to be in charge of the band’s image?”

  I don’t speak for a few seconds, too distracted by the proximity of Saylor’s mouth to mine. “Have you seen how badass you guys look in every single photo?”

  Saylor glances at me, notices there’s barely any distance between our lips, and steps away. Monni returns with Eduardo, who stares in shock at Saylor’s hair.

  “Dios mio! Who did that to you?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but Saylor elbows my arm and says, “Self-inflicted. They had to shave part of my hair for surgery, and well, it was already a hot mess.”

  Eduardo wraps Saylor’s shoulders with a black cape and steers her toward a leather chair in front of a tall mirror. Peering at her through the mirror’s reflection, he picks up random strands of her hair. “I’m glad there’s still some length left for me to play with. What kind of style are you looking for?”

  “Uh, I was thinking perhaps cutting it chin length with a few layers. I also want to shave the side of my head.”

  Eduardo looks down at Saylor’s hair and frowns. “Is your hair naturally this blonde?”

  “Yup.”

  “Niña, half my clientele would die for your hair. How about we have some fun with it?”

  “Meaning?” she asks, and I take a step closer.

  “I’m thinking rainbow.”

  “Yes!” The word rushes from my lips before I can stop it. Saylor raises an eyebrow at me and the corners of her lips twitch up. I rub the back of my neck as heat spreads over my cheeks. “Uh, you had mermaid hair when I first met you.”

  “What color?”

  “Some sort of aquamarine blue, like your eyes.”

  “Oh, pretty,” Eduardo interrupts. “We can do different hues of blue on the inside layers and the bottom. It will look gorgeous.”

  Without taking her eyes off me, Saylor nods. “Sounds good.”

  I’m left speechless. Did she just agree to that color because of what I said? It’s been a hell of month, and I don’t dare believe she’s actually going to let me in, but my stupid heart still beats faster than normal.

  While Eduardo does his thing, I talk with Monni briefly, and when the stylist leaves, I make some phone calls. Maybe I’m jumping the gun here, but I want to take Saylor out on a date tonight. I make a reservation in one of the best restaurants in town. The place is usually booked for months, but I just need to drop my name to get a table.

  Two hours later, Saylor appears in front of me a changed woman. Her long hair is much shorter now, and the shaved side gives her an edge that suits her well.

  “So? What do you think?” She touches her styled hair, a little uncertain.

  “Stunning.”

  “It’s strange. I’ve never worn my hair this short before.”

  I stand up and stop in front of her, taking a strand of her hair between my fingers. “
Sugar, you would look gorgeous even bald.”

  She twists her face into a frown. “That sounds like a bad pickup line.”

  “It’s not a line, it’s the truth.”

  “In that case, thank you.” There’s a brief pause during which Saylor glances at everything but me. “Do you mind driving me to the hospital? I have therapy in an hour.”

  “Of course, sugar. Can I come with you this time?”

  Her eyebrows furrow in a deep V as she looks my way. She doesn’t need to say anything. I have my answer.

  “I would prefer to go alone. It’s nothing against you, I just don’t want you to witness another embarrassing moment from me.”

  Her answer does something to alleviate my disappointment. She can keep me out of her therapy sessions as long as she agrees to have dinner with me tonight.

  I don’t simply drop Saylor off at the hospital and leave, choosing to wait for her in my car so I can drive her back home. A little over an hour later, she walks out of the building accompanied by a young Asian woman. They are talking animatedly before they hug. I can’t sit in the car for another second. Burning with curiosity, I step out and make my way to the duo. Saylor’s companion notices me first and her eyes widen.

  “Oliver, what are you still doing here? I told you I could get an Uber.”

  “It was no big deal. I got a lot of work done in my car.”

  The woman next to Saylor clears her throat, making Saylor blush in response. “Ah, sorry. Oliver, this is my physical therapist, Dr. Makamoto.”

  “Nice to meet you, Doc.”

  We shake hands and she says, “You can call me Cheryl.”

  She keeps staring at me without saying a word, making me uncomfortable. I rub the back of my neck and glance at Saylor, who is watching the doctor with amusement in her eyes. Did I miss something?

  “I’m sorry. This is so rude of me,” Cheryl finally says. “I didn’t mean to stare at you like that. I’m not some crazy fan, I swear. It’s just a bit surreal to meet a Boys Future member in person.”

  “No worries. I get that all the time.”

  “You owe me five bucks,” Saylor tells the doctor.

  Cheryl rolls her eyes and retrieves a fiver from her back pocket. “Oh, all right.”

  “What kind of bet did you lose?”

  “It’s too embarrassing to tell.”

  Saylor chuckles before she continues, “Cheryl claimed she was above being starstruck, that she could meet you without acting strange.”

  The woman crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares at Saylor. “Laugh all you want, Saylor. Don’t forget I have your ass for another month.”

  “Ugh! Don’t remind me.”

  “How is she doing, Cheryl?” I ask.

  Saylor hits my chest with the back of her hand. “Hey! I’m standing right here.”

  That’s all it takes. Just a touch from her, even a meaningless gesture like that, sends my heart into overdrive. Cheryl watches everything with a hint of smile on her lips.

  “Saylor is doing fantastic. She was able to flip me off with her left hand today.”

  I choke on my own saliva, which turns into a coughing fit.

  “Hey, are you all right there?” Saylor asks.

  “I’m okay. I would love to see that.”

  “See what?”

  “Your left-hand birdie.”

  Saylor watches me through narrowed eyes while her lips make a flat, thin line. “Keep pushing me and you will.”

  We say goodbye to Cheryl, heading to my car. When I follow Saylor to the passenger side to open the door for her, she stops to glower at me. “What are you doing? I can open my own door.”

  Ignoring her, I pull the door open. “I know, but can’t I be a gentleman?” I don’t even try to hide the grin of mischief.

  She squints at me. “You’re trying to get me to flip you off, aren’t you?”

  “Me? Of course not.”

  “Right.” She enters the vehicle still glowering at me.

  I join her a moment later, still with a shit-eating grin on my lips. I’ve missed this easy banter between us.

  “So, what do you have planned for today?”

  “More practice with the girls.” Saylor looks out the window and rubs her hand against her yoga pants.

  “What is it, sugar?”

  “I’m getting the itch to write new songs, but without being able to play Rita, it feels like I have paper but no pen.”

  “I could help you out. Our last collaboration was a hit.”

  I hear her loud intake of breath, which makes me turn to watch her face. She turns to me and our gazes lock. “I haven’t been able to listen to our duet yet.”

  The euphoria exits my chest in a loud whoosh, leaving me hollow. “Why is that?”

  She shakes her head and looks away. “It hurts too much.”

  My hands curl tighter around the steering wheel. I don’t like that answer at all.

  “I’m afraid to look too closely at what I’m missing,” she continues. “I want to remember you, Ollie. I want to remember us.”

  Tears suddenly prick my eyes, and I have to blink repeatedly to keep them at bay. Curling my hand over hers, I say, “You will, sugar. You will.”

  Eleven

  Saylor

  I let Oliver help me up the stairs because I think he needs to feel useful right now. I didn’t mean to tell him about the duet. It just came out. I know the truth hurt him deeply, and I’m tired of doing that to him.

  I’m such an idiot. I should just keep my mouth shut from now on.

  The girls are already downstairs in the studio playing, but I need a shower and a change of clothes. Before I head to my room, Oliver stops me.

  “Do you feel like debuting your new hairstyle tonight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  The way he asks me, as if his entire world revolves around my answer, makes my heart flutter. He’s my husband and he’s making me as giddy as a high school girl.

  “Yes, I’d love that.” Ugh, could my voice sound any weaker?

  His eyebrows shot heavenwards. “You would?”

  “Yes, Ollie. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Okay then. We have reservations at seven.”

  “Wait, what? You made a reservation already?”

  He gives me a wolfish grin, and if possible, the butterflies in my stomach become more savage.

  “I didn’t know you would say yes, but I was hoping. I guess I pulled a Bon Jovi and lived on a prayer.”

  I stare at him unblinking for a couple of seconds before a burst of laugher escapes my mouth. I laugh so hard, tears form in my eyes. “Oh my God. That was awful.”

  “Making memories here, sugar. I have to add to my repertoire.”

  “Have I ever say something corny to you?” I cock my head to the side, ignoring the voice in my head telling me to stop flirting.

  “Nah, you’re too cool for that. But there was that time you got sloppy drunk….”

  My jaw drops. I was never a sloppy drunk. “I call bullshit. I can handle my liquor.”

  “Apparently not when you’re partying with the Goulas.”

  “Ugh, Oliver. Now you have to tell me what I did.”

  He walks backward, grinning like a fool. “Maybe I’ll tell you tonight if you play your cards right.”

  I flip him off and when he looks stunned, I realize I used my left hand again to do it. His smile stretches wider and his eyes dance with glee.

  Without another word, I spin on my heels and head down the hallway. Alone in my room, I lean against the closed door and take deep breaths to calm down my out-of-control heart. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Was it just this morning when I was ready to do something stupid? The constant one-eighties are making my head spin. If I still had a therapist, I could ask him if these types of mood swings are normal or if the surgery did irreparable damage to my brain. Perhaps I should find a new ther
apist, someone who isn’t a douchecanoe.

  Oliver knocks on my door at 6:00 p.m. sharp. I’ve been ready since five, but I was too chicken to leave my room until the very last moment. It took me forever to pick the right clothes for the occasion. I want to impress him, but I have no idea what he likes. When my hand brushed against a light, billowing skirt, I recognized it from the picture in the living room.

  Now that I’m wearing the exact same outfit from the night of our very first televised performance, I don’t know if it was the smartest idea. I’m terrified of Oliver’s reaction, but it’s too late to change now. With a deep breath, I open the door wide.

  Holy shit, Oliver looks hotter than sin wearing a crisp button-down shirt paired with a navy jacket and slacks. The heady scent he favors makes me dizzy in a good way.

  His gaze drops to my shoes before slowly traveling back up the length of my body. There’s a myriad of emotions swirling in his blue gaze, but I can’t hope to decipher any of them.

  “Ready?” His voice is restrained, thick, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same pull I am.

  Shit. Maybe agreeing to go out on a date with him wasn’t the smartest idea.

  “Yes.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he nods. “After you.”

  I walk ahead of him, self-conscious all of a sudden. My back is tense as my body and mind are at war with each other.

  We don’t say much on the way to the restaurant. I only make a meaningful comment when Oliver pulls up in front of a busy restaurant. This was so not the place I was expecting him to take me.

  “This is it?”

  “Yes. It’s one of the best restaurants in town.”

  “It looks… busy.”

  “You sound disappointed.”