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

by M. H. Soars

  If Harry turns out to be someone with questionable morals, will I still want him around?

  Thirty-Seven

  Saylor

  The moment Oliver returns with Harry in tow, I know something’s wrong. The usual state of excitement Oliver has when his brother is around is absent tonight. In its place, I catch weariness. What happened?

  Harry acts charming, even a little flirtatious, sitting between Remi and Sticks. Remi, as usual, monopolizes the conversation, but from time to time, Harry veers his question toward Sticks. Oliver doesn’t seem to notice his brother’s interaction, but Allan watches Harry through narrowed eyes. Every time the young man leans closer to Sticks to be heard over the loud music, Allan tenses as if he’s preparing to pounce.

  Tabatha watches the drama unfold with a smirk. Maybe there’s more going on between Allan and Sticks, and she’s finding the little drama entertaining. I would probably share her sentiment if I didn’t already have an ill disposition toward Harry. I wish I had more to go on than just a mere hunch. I don’t want any of the girls getting embroiled with him.

  I tear my gaze from the group and touch Oliver’s arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Of course, sugar. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve been awfully quiet since Harry arrived. Did something happen?”

  Oliver smiles tightly before kissing me quickly. “Nothing happened, sugar. It’s all good.”

  Then how come he can’t hold my gaze? I bite my tongue and refrain from asking Oliver any more questions. We’ve fought enough about Harry, and I don’t want to do so in front of our friends.

  I’m ready to call it a night when Allan glances at his phone, then addresses the group. “I just got a text from one of your old buddies, Ollie.”

  “Who?”

  “Anthony Bowman.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Oliver leans forward, the sudden change in his mood almost electric.

  “Uh, who’s Anthony Bowman?” I ask.

  “He used to be in Boys Future, sugar.”

  “Oh, I was under the impression you didn’t like your bandmates that much.”

  “It was only Tweedledum and Tweedledee who were wankers. Anthony was all right. He kept to himself, never got into trouble.”

  “He sounds nice,” I say.

  “He sounds boring.” Harry grimaces to match his opinion.

  “I would love to meet him,” I continue, giving Harry the stink-eye.

  “What did the message say?” Oliver asks.

  “He’s asking if we’d like to attend the opening of a new club.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun.” Remi’s already on board.

  Oliver looks at me. “What do you say, sugar?”

  I shrug. “Sure, why not? It’s not like we have to be up early tomorrow or anything.”

  He smirks. “You’re so cute when you use sarcasm.”

  “So, are we going?” Remi’s literally bouncing in her chair.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, we’re going, Remi.”

  She throws both arms up in the air. “Yay! Partay!”

  We split into cabs, and it doesn’t escape my notice that Harry joins Allan, Sticks, and Remi while Tabatha comes with us.

  “So, how are things going with you and your brother?” she asks as soon as the cab starts moving.

  “Good, it’s going good.” Oliver doesn’t hold her stare long, looking out the window instead.

  Tabatha leans closer to whisper, “What’s eating him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We both turn to stare at Oliver, who seems oblivious to our scrutiny. I bet that dingleberry did something to upset him. I wish I could unleash the Saylor fury on him just like I did with Oliver’s mother, but unfortunately I have to be very careful with that porcelain child. I hate it.

  “This trip is good and all, but we have commitments back home that can’t be postponed anymore, Blue. When are you coming back?” Tabatha speaks loud enough that it’s impossible for Oliver not to hear her.

  I open my mouth to reply, but he beats me to it. “We’re coming home with you guys.”

  “We are?” His answer surprises the hell out of me.

  “Yes. I don’t need to stay here to wait until Charles figures out my father’s will. I’ll come back here if needed.”

  “Thank fuck. I was beginning to fear you weren’t ever going to come back,” Tabatha says.

  “What about Harry?” That’s the thing that concerns me the most. More than ever, I don’t want him to come with us. I don’t think his company is doing Oliver any good. It’s sad to think that way, but just because they’re brothers doesn’t meant they mesh well together.

  “I don’t know. I’ll be too busy with work to entertain him. It’d probably be best if he comes later, after the inheritance bit is sorted.”

  The sense of relief that washes over me is almost overwhelming.

  “How come I have the sense that Harry is kind of a poophead?”

  “Tabby!” I say, trying my best to keep a serious face.

  “What? He was acting like a little prick back at the bar. Did you see how he treated that poor waiter?”

  Yes, there was that. Harry talked to the guy like he was a servant. Where the heck did he get that sense of entitlement? In a way, he reminded me of Charlotte’s ex.

  “I know he’s your long-lost brother, Ollie, but he’s kind of an ass,” Tabatha continues.

  “I was kind of an ass too,” he replies, but there’s no levity in his tone.

  “Just when you went dark,” I counter.

  “When I went dark?” His lips break into a small smile. My comment wasn’t meant to be perceived as a joke, but I’m glad it amused him.

  “That’s what Adeline said. In fact, she told me this wonderful story about when you broke your own pinkie on purpose so Harry wouldn’t feel bad about his crooked finger.”

  Oliver frowns as if he’s trying to remember, and then his eyes light up. “Oh bloody hell, I did do that. Man, I was such an idiot. It hurt like a mother, and in the end it was all for nothing.”

  “You know, of all the stories I’ve heard about you, boss, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” Tabatha laughs.

  Oliver joins her. “For the first time ever, I’ll have to agree with you.”

  “Holy shit, is it raining elephants outside? Oliver and Tabatha agree on something? That’s a first.” I put my hand over my chest mockingly, but my smile vanishes when they keep staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head.

  “What?”

  “How do you know we usually don’t agree with each other?” Tabatha asks.

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  Oliver smiles. “Sugar, I think you’re remembering.”

  “But I didn’t get any flash of memory this time.”

  “No, but you’re remembering basic stuff and not even realizing it. That’s fucking brilliant.”

  He pulls me closer and kisses my cheek. Tabatha rolls her eyes and makes a gagging sound. As for me, I turn my thoughts inward, trying to find other memories I’ve recovered without knowing. Before long, we arrive at the new club and I’ve gained nothing besides a raging headache.

  Anthony Bowman is everything Oliver described him to be. Quiet and polite, but with a dry sense of humor only a few people can handle. Harry not being one of them. He took offense to something Anthony said within ten minutes of meeting Oliver’s former bandmate and stormed off to explore the club on his own. Good riddance. I hope he gets lost.

  Not surprisingly, Anthony and Tabatha hit it off extremely well, and they soon disappeared together to God knows where. In fact, we’ve lost everyone.

  Oliver wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. “Alone at last.”

  My arms fold around his neck as I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him softly. His tongue breaks the seam of my lips, teasing a little before pulling back. Oliver is a master of sweet tortures.

  “Dance with me,” he says against my lips.

  T
he club is crowded, and the techno music is loud, but somehow those three little words make this one of the most magical and romantic moments I’ve ever experienced. Not as romantic as his proposal, but…

  Wait.

  I freeze in his arms as my eyes fill with tears. They’re rolling down my cheeks before I can stop it. I remember that day crystal clear. The clues Oliver left for me, the unexpected visit from my half-sister, the proposal—everything.

  “Sugar, why are you crying?”

  “I remember our wedding day, Ollie. I remember everything about it.”

  Oliver stands frozen for a couple of seconds before his lips unfurl in one of the biggest smiles as the news finally sinks in. He picks me up to swirl me around, disregarding all the people around us. When he finally puts me down, his cheeks are as wet as mine.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he says.

  “What about everyone else? And Harry. Wasn’t he supposed to stay with us?”

  “I’ll text Allan and ask him to get Harry a room at their hotel. We’re getting out of here now.”

  Who am I to argue when I’m one hundred percent on board with this plan? Oliver takes my hand and together we zigzag our way toward the club’s exit. When we’re two steps from the door, Allan appears out of nowhere, so angry that he doesn’t even see us at first.

  “Allan? Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Have you seen Sticks?” he asks instead.

  “No. What happened?”

  Allan only glances at me briefly before he turns his ire in Oliver’s direction. “I don’t care that he’s your brother or that you own the company. I don’t want Harry anywhere near the girls.”

  “What did he do?” Oliver says through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know exactly, but he said something to Sticks that really upset her. She took off before I could ask her about it.”

  I figure Oliver will come up with an excuse for Harry, but he shocks me when he says, “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  I’ve never seen Allan so rattled before. He’s like a different person, almost feral. I grab my cell phone and text Sticks, asking where she is. No answer. I text Remi and Tabby next.

  Tabatha replies that Sticks went back to the hotel with Remi. A sense of relief washes over me, but when I glance at Oliver’s face, the relief vanishes.

  “Sticks went back to the hotel with Remi.”

  “Okay.” Allan turns to Oliver. “I mean what I said about Harry. If he comes to California, I don’t want him anywhere near the studio.”

  Oliver doesn’t reply, just watches Allan walk out the door. Whatever Oliver had planned for us, it’s the last thing on his mind now.

  Fucking Harry ruined everything again.

  Thirty-Eight

  Saylor

  I don’t know what Oliver told Harry after the club fiasco, but he didn’t stay with us that night. Instead, Oliver dropped him off at a hotel—different than the one the girls were staying at. Harry went back to Hertfordshire the next day. No one was sad to see him gone. Well, no one besides Oliver. Even if he didn’t say anything, I read the sadness in his eyes. Or better yet, the disappointment. He just found his brother, and it turns out the guy’s an asshole.

  It can’t be easy for him to watch Harry act like an idiot and to have his partner tell him he doesn’t want Harry around. In the few short months I’ve interacted with Allan, I’ve never seen him lose his temper. He’s one of the most easygoing people I know. But it seems that Oliver is no longer seeing Harry through rose-tinted glasses. I’m glad he’s not letting guilt blind him to the guy’s faults.

  Work keeps him distracted, at least. Between the interviews Allan managed to schedule and the studio time in London, there was no time to dwell on his family issues. By the end of the week, the ever-present shadow in Oliver’s gaze was almost gone.

  The band and Allan are staying a few extra days in London to go sightseeing. We’re spending one last weekend with Adeline and then it’s California, baby. Finally.

  “I hope Felix is all right,” I say on the drive back to his family’s estate.

  “Sugar, you checked the online feed several times in the last few days. He’s fine.”

  We couldn’t bring Felix with us to London, so we found a dog hotel. Three days without that furball is too much.

  The song on the radio cuts off when it switches to Oliver’s incoming ringtone. The little display on the car’s dashboard say it’s Charlotte. With a flick of a button, Oliver takes the call. “Hello, sis.”

  “Oliver, how far are you?”

  “Twenty minutes or so. What’s the matter, Char? Missing your big bro already?”

  There’s a poignant pause before Charlotte’s voice comes through again. “Ollie, it’s Grandma. Sh-she’s gone”

  It takes me a while to fully process Charlotte’s words, and then utter sadness hits me. With already blurry eyes, I turn to Oliver. His face is ashen, frozen in an expression of completely misery. Out of the blue, he swerves the car to the left, scaring the shit out of me. I let out a yelp when we almost hit the stone fence lining the road.

  Once the car stops, he asks, “How?”

  “In her sleep. Gilbert found her this morning.”

  Before I can say anything, Oliver’s gone, out in the poor weather. He walks to the front of the car, hands laced behind his head. Then he looks up to the gray sky and lets out the most gut-wrenching, anguished scream I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I’m out of the car just in time to prevent him from falling to his knees. He collapses against me instead, his entire frame shaking as he wraps his arms around my body.

  There are no words I can say that feel right, so I just cry with him, feeling the loss of that lovely lady deep in my bones. I wish I’d had more time with her. If I’m feeling her death so profoundly and I’ve only known her for a couple of months, I can’t imagine Oliver’s raw pain.

  Only when his body stops shaking do I find my voice. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

  He takes a step back and watches me for a moment before kissing me so roughly it hurts. I don’t mind, letting him take whatever he wants from me. His hands are on my face, trapping me while he punishes my mouth with his savage tongue. I can taste the desolation in that kiss.

  My lips are tingling once Oliver has his fill. His gaze drops to them right before he runs his thumb over the now-sensitive skin. “I’m so sorry, sugar. I don’t know what came over me. Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” I lie as I touch his cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  I veer toward the driver side of the vehicle but stop when Oliver touches my arm. “Are you sure you can drive?”

  Glancing down at my left hand, I open and shut it. “The car is automatic. I can handle it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He walks to the passenger side with shoulders hunched forward and a dead look in his eyes. My heart breaks even more at the sight. Sudden nausea hits me so hard, I can’t push it down. I lean forward just in time to vomit everything I had for breakfast that morning, narrowly missing soiling my clothes. My forehead is clammy by the time I’m done, and I know it’s not from the light rain. The whole episode doesn’t last a minute, and I’m not surprised that Oliver doesn’t come out to see what I’m up to. My stomach is still upset, but I think I got everything out.

  Once I finally slide in behind the steering wheel, I find him staring out the window with a fisted hand covering his mouth. His cheeks are wet again. He’s crying, but doing so in silence this time.

  My vision become blurry once more, but I clench my jaw hard and fight the sadness threatening to take control. It’s my turn to be strong.

  Thirty-Nine

  Saylor

  Adeline’s heart stopped beating sometime during the night, though the doctors won’t know why until after the autopsy. The preliminary results will take four weeks. To me, it seems like an awful long time to wait.

  Oliver seems indifferent to that. Actually, every
one’s pretty much accepted that she died of old age. Charles, the lawyer, was the one who insisted upon the exam.

  Right now, I’m feeling useless. Oliver took it upon himself to organize the funeral, just like he did with his father’s, and dove headfirst into the task. I offered to help only to be asked to spend time with his sister, to distract her. I don’t mind being given the role of babysitter, but from the get-go, it was clear that Charlotte didn’t want my company. She spent most of the day yesterday locked in her room, so I was left alone with my grief. It didn’t compare to Oliver’s or Charlotte’s, of course, but it was enough to make me hollow.

  Oliver is out of bed this morning before dawn.

  “Where are you going?” I whisper.

  “Go back to sleep, sugar. I’m taking Felix for a walk in the woods. I’ll be back soon.”

  He walks out the door, clicking it shut behind him. On the other side, there’s a quiet bark followed by Oliver’s hushed voice.

  I can’t go back to sleep. The pressure caving my chest won’t let me. I sit up in bed, bringing my knees up to hug them. Suddenly I’m hit with another overwhelming nausea spell. Jumping out of bed, I make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it in time. I’ve never felt such sickness before, not even when suffering from a massive hangover or when I had the blood clot.

  The sound of me hurling echoes around me. My throat burns, my skin clammy. Once I start, there’s no stopping until there’s nothing left. Uncurling from my crouched position, I stand on shaking legs as I wash my mouth and face. My reflection shows a ghost instead of a person, my skin ashen.

  A nagging suspicion makes my breath hitch. Shit, it can’t be. I grab my phone and pull up the calendar, counting the days since my last period. Fuck. I’m two weeks late. How did I not realize that sooner?