Remember Me: Music For The Heart: Book 4 Read online

  Remember Me

  Music For The Heart: Book 4

  Faith Starr

  Remember Me

  Copyright © 2018 by Faith Starr

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Faith Starr. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-948989-14-5

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-948989-15-2

  Editors: Editing by CL Roman, Faith Starr

  Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

  Published in the United States of America

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is intended for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Faith Starr will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of her titles.

  For my dad,

  who might have left this world not

  remembering my name,

  but who I know remembered me.

  Preface

  Remember Me was a tough story to write. Losing my father to Alzheimer’s in 2018 was an experience like no other. It was a whirlwind of events that ended suddenly, without much advance warning, leaving many scars, and sadly, changing the dynamic between me and one of my sisters—not for the better.

  Ryan and Lizzie’s story was written following his passing. I wanted to create a love story incorporating things I had witnessed and experienced, things that will forever remain a weight on my heart.

  The story is fictitious. However, some of the residents are based on those in the center where my dad resided. Of course, their names have been changed and personalities altered.

  Lizzie’s character was inspired by the activity teacher who worked in my father’s center for several months. Like my heroine, she was a ray of sunshine in a gloomy place. She had a heart of gold and shared it with every resident. I will never forget her beautiful smile and gentle soul.

  I can honestly say this manuscript was my most challenging to date because so much of what takes place for Lizzie and Ryan in the memory care center hits close to home, even the fun times.

  With the idea of my dad as a starting point, I wanted to build a story around his struggles. As a private person who holds my feelings inside, the manuscript enabled me to grieve through the writing process. It gave me the opportunity to see light in the darkness and give my characters inner strength in the process, while also allowing me to find my own.

  There were periods I had to take a break.

  Days.

  Weeks.

  Months.

  I couldn’t bear to edit certain pages. They brought up too many feelings I didn’t want to resurface.

  The release date of this novel will be the second anniversary of his passing. It will also be my 25th wedding anniversary. Interesting how life gives us both heartache and joy at the same time.

  I hope I was able to convey the difficulty families face when their loved ones suffer from Alzheimer’s without overdoing it and trying to keep the primary focus on the budding relationship between Lizzie and Ryan and their happily ever after.

  Most importantly, I hope my dad knows how much he is missed and that not a day goes by that I don’t think about him.

  This one’s for you, Dad!

  Remember Me forever

  Contents

  1. Ryan

  2. Lizzie

  3. Ryan

  4. Lizzie

  5. Ryan

  6. Lizzie

  7. Ryan

  8. Lizzie

  9. Ryan

  10. Lizzie

  11. Ryan

  12. Lizzie

  13. Ryan

  14. Lizzie

  15. Ryan

  16. Lizzie

  17. Ryan

  18. Lizzie

  19. Ryan

  20. Lizzie

  21. Ryan

  22. Lizzie

  23. Ryan

  24. Lizzie

  25. Ryan

  26. Lizzie

  27. Ryan

  28. Lizzie

  29. Ryan

  30. Lizzie

  31. Ryan

  32. Lizzie

  33. Ryan

  34. Lizzie

  Epilogue

  Also by Faith Starr

  Help and Support Are Available

  Please Review My Book

  About Faith Starr

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Ryan

  Ryan

  “Hey, Gramps.”

  His warm smile kicked my apprehension aside. He actually recognized me!

  The poor thing had lost weight since I’d last seen him—so goddamn frail. It killed me to see such a tough guy end up in such horrible condition.

  “You look good.” Considering. I left that part out. Not that he’d understand what I meant by it, but still, why take the chance? I patted him on the shoulder. “I’m in town for a few weeks. So Mom told me this is your new place.”

  Scanning the main area didn’t change my mind about my grandfather living in such dismal conditions. A few worn-in couches faced a wall with a TV mounted on it. Not HD or big by any means. A thirty-two inch, maybe? How the entire group of residents would be able to watch it at one time piqued my curiosity radar.

  The nurse’s station was housed behind a partial wall of glass. Some recliners were parked against the back wall. There was ample space for residents to walk or move their wheelchairs about. The dining area had several tables set up in long rows with a few smaller ones lining the perimeter. Upon closer inspection, the grand room appeared clean enough, but that pro was quickly knocked off the shelf by the smell of piss that lingered in the air. Utterly putrid.

  “Seems like you’ve made a lot of new friends.” I wasn’t sure how much interaction the residents had, but at least my grandpa wasn’t unsupervised anymore.

  A brunette with curls galore—the ringlets framing the delicate features of her face—waltzed in front of the couches. Her presence caught me off guard and instantly brought life into the gloomy atmosphere. She stood in front of the sofas and faced the group.

  “I know how much you love playing ball, so let’s get to it. Shall we?” She held up a ball with colorful trains on it—the soft kind toddlers play with—all the while speaking and gesturing with the enthusiasm of a preschool teacher. One I’d have no qualms fucking.

  Her staff T-shirt hugged her breasts, the bra underneath doing a more than fine job of huddling them together. The V-neck revealed a hefty portion of cleavage. Her beige chinos shaped her round ass perfectly. It was no wonder all the men, me included, were paying keen attention to her.

  “Catch the b
all, Isaac.”

  Hot teacher tossed the ball to a man sitting on a loveseat. The sucker caught it too, which impressed the shit out of me.

  “Now throw it to Marlo.”

  She pointed to a guy who I assumed went by the name of Marlo. The dude missed catching the ball. It rolled in front of me. I picked it up and handed it to the teacher, but she didn’t take it from me.

  “Why don’t you throw it to one of the residents?” Her blue eyes lit up, almost twinkling.

  I momentarily froze, mesmerized by the sight of her. The small patch of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks was adorable. She obviously wasn’t an alternative music fan because most younger women recognized the guys and me these days. This one clearly didn’t.

  “Would you like to throw it to one of the residents?”

  Shit. She probably thought I belonged in the center.

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.” I tossed the ball to a guy sitting at the end of one of the couches. He missed catching it.

  The teacher spent more time chasing missed balls than the residents spent throwing them. No wonder she was in such great shape—petite—my favorite type of woman.

  “Great job, everyone! Let’s continue moving since you’re all so lively and motivated today.”

  I wouldn’t go that far but props to her for praising small miracles.

  We were on to the next activity. The place was short attention span theater.

  “I’m going to play music so we can dance. Are you ready to boogie down?” She switched on an old-fashioned boom box and popped a CD into the top of it. A moderate tempo Frank Sinatra song filled the air.

  Getting these folks to move, I had to see. This teacher had high expectations.

  She found her groove, wiggling her hands and upper torso while facing her participants, or lack thereof. It wasn’t the type of audience I was used to, far from it. But she held their interest, and for that alone she deserved recognition.

  To my surprise, a woman and man got up from their chairs. I wouldn’t necessarily call what they were doing dancing, but they had their hips swaying, both of them grinning wide. It blew me away, so nice to see. It reminded me of how much my gramps used to love to dance with my grandmother, may she rest in peace.

  My grandpa started rocking to the rhythm while watching the two residents enjoy themselves. The teacher earned an extra dose of props for that accomplishment.

  “Gramps, you love Frank Sinatra. Why don’t you dance too?”

  His brows drew together, and he gave me a ghost of a smile.

  “Come on, we’ll dance together.” I rose and stood in front of him. I hoisted him into an upright position, steadying him once he was on his feet. His muscles had somewhat atrophied.

  He studied me. I moved side to side—simple steps—encouraging him to do the same. Lo and behold, he raised his shoulders to the easy beat of the song.

  “That’s it, Gramps.” I hit it up alongside him. Another woman joined us.

  The song ended, but the teacher kept the party going by letting the CD do its thing. “Lady is a Tramp,” featuring Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga, took over the speakers.

  Hot teacher found her inner J. Lo, going to each resident, those sitting or standing, and singing to them while clapping her hands—her hips capturing my full attention. Damn. She was a ray of sunshine burning me up inside.

  She skirted around them, ending up next to Gramps. “That’s it, Morris. Move your hips.” She placed her hands on his waist to guide him.

  My grandfather laughed. I continued to watch her, baffled by how such simple movements on her part could be so erotic.

  “This is my grandson.” Gramps beamed at me.

  Holy fuck. He’d remembered my place in the family. My mother had given it a fifty-fifty shot. I wasn’t sure if he knew my name, but I didn’t care. He knew I was his grandson. I would take anything I could get from him.

  “Ryan.” I offered her my hand, staring into her eyes which were the bluest of blue.

  “Lizzie. It’s nice to meet you.” She placed her delicate hand in mine and shook it. “You have an amazing grandfather.”

  She didn’t have to tell me that.

  “I know.”

  “Dance with her.” Gramps nudged me toward Lizzie.

  Well, shit. Grandpa was more on the ball than my mom had given him credit for.

  Call it fate or some kind of weird universal energy phenomenon because as soon as we faced each other and started to perform simple choreography to match the beat of the song, it ended and the first notes of Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett’s ballad “But Beautiful” began to play. It completely changed the air between us. I would go out on a limb and say it charged the air between us.

  One thing was for sure: I couldn’t wait to hold this woman close to me. The mild floral scent of her perfume was already drawing me in.

  Lizzie eyed me with each step I made toward her, all of one or two, probably considering backing out since the song had such a slow tempo to it.

  “Shall we?” I asked, reaching my hand out for hers again, this time for a different reason.

  She glimpsed at it, a touch of hesitancy on her behalf before placing her palm in it.

  Grandpa had shown me a few moves back in the day. Good thing too because I planned to make him proud by putting them to use right now.

  My grandpa always had music playing during my daily visits, ironically, mostly the Brat Pack. Gramps musical talent was off the charts. I often wondered whether I had inherited the creative gene from him because nobody else in my family had one. The first time my mother heard my voice, she nearly fell off her chair.

  Not that she encouraged me to go in the music direction career wise. She thought it was a road to nowhere or hell. She would’ve preferred for me to be the studious type. I was far from it.

  My grandpa saw my potential. He bought me my first keyboard to my mother’s dismay. I learned to play the sucker all by myself because she refused to let me take me lessons. Not an issue. Gramps bought me instructional books, and YouTube didn’t hurt either.

  The residents applauded me and Lizzie’s floor show.

  Being ever the performer, I chose to build upon the step touches we had going by twirling her around and pulling her into my chest. That really got our audience’s approval.

  We moved side to side, forward, and back.

  The song ended, the residents cheered, and Lizzie and I took our well-deserved bows.

  She curtsied, holding the edges of her imaginary skirt. Her cheeks had a nice shade of pink to them. Overheated perhaps? Nah. I’d go with the theory that I affected her as much as she affected me.

  “Thank you for the dance,” she said, her lips curling up.

  “The pleasure was all mine.” In more ways than one.

  This girl was on fire. What was she doing in this place?

  I had a strong urge to find out.

  2

  Lizzie

  By the time Ryan and I finished our dance, I was out of breath. More because of the lack of space between me and the insanely gorgeous man than to my activity level. He had charisma—a big, fun personality with hypnotic blue eyes, the color similar to mine. His dark, shaggy hairstyle could have come off the front page of a magazine. And his cologne? Take me now. Don’t even get me started on his physique.

  His arms had tattoos, the muscles in them slightly bulging. A man with his looks could only mean trouble in all caps; therefore, it would be in my best interest to stay away from him. But then again, when did I ever follow the rules? To my benefit, I had gotten better at it.

  Needing a breather, I wandered over to the cart by the kitchenette to get drinks for the residents. I rolled it in front of the couches and handed out cups to those who could hold them. The others I assisted by feeding them juice through straws and holding their cups for them.

  It would’ve been nice for the aides to get off their lazy asses and help me, but that would be asking too much.

  Yeah, I had become some
what jaded over the months. Their priorities and mine were completely different. Whereas when I was at the center I dedicated my all to the residents, they chose to play on their cell phones or engage in superficial chitchat. Anything but be productive and do something that might be useful. Don’t get me wrong, there were a few winners in the pot, but they were far and few between. Then again, the aides knew that during my shifts I worked my ass off, doing the job of three or four people. So in a sense, I enabled their slacking-off behavior.

  I offered Ryan some apple juice. He took the small cup from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine in the process.

  Yikes! Talk about the transference of sexual energy. The guy practically jolted me with his.

  Breathe.

  Breathe again and pull it together.

  Our eyes caught.

  His spark ignited my senses.

  Wow. What kind of vitamins did he take?

  I blinked, literally shaking my head to snap myself out of whatever spell he was trying to put me under.

  Seymour, one of the more mobile residents, reached for my hand so I would dance with him. It was a perfect distraction from the hyperventilating I was trying to get under control.

  Sadly, Seymour’s gesture was a fail. I was still panting—nonchalantly—doing my best to hide my rattled state.