Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,56

to be asked twice.

She sat at the dining table, facing Dev. But he’d slowed right down, his gaze regularly flicking in her direction.

The notebook had a brown leather cover, with Dev’s surname embossed in a corner. Ruby ran a finger over it, already sure she knew who it once belonged to.

‘It’s your dad’s, right?’

Dev nodded, but he kept his eyes focused on the pot he stirred.

Ruby opened the book. The first page was covered in numbers and dollar symbols. As was the next. A quick flick through the entire book showed it was nearly full with almost identical pages—dollar amounts. Some huge. Tens of millions of dollars. Hundreds of millions.

‘What is this?’

Dev was carrying two plates piled high with pasta to the table. He placed them down carefully, then waited until he was in his seat before looking at Ruby—straight into her eyes, his gaze crystal clear.

‘All I wanted, growing up, was for my dad to be proud of me.’

His voice cracked a little, and Ruby wanted to reach for him, but knew, instinctively, that now wasn’t the time.

Dev swallowed. ‘A cliché, I know. When I failed at that as a kid, I told myself I’d stopped caring what he thought. I used to tell myself that I wanted to become an actor because Dad would hate it, not because, deep down, I knew I was good at it. And that maybe, eventually, he’d see that.’

He kept twirling his fork, the same strands of pasta wrapping tighter and tighter.

‘But he didn’t. Then I left, and that was that. No more caring what Dad thought about me, no more looking to him for praise and approval. Except, then he went and died. And I realised that was all absolute crap. I’ve been waiting fourteen years to speak to my dad.’

‘You still cared what he thought.’

Dev nodded, but then shook his head. ‘Kind of. Of course I still wanted the slap on the back, the good job, son, all that stuff. But most of all, I just wanted to hear his voice. He worked so hard to achieve his goals, and he reached every single one. I should’ve swallowed my pride.’

His tone was so different from that afternoon on the beach. Now he spoke with near reverence—it was such a contrast. ‘He could’ve called you, too,’ Ruby pointed out. ‘You’re his son just as much as he’s your father.’

Dev smiled. ‘Of course he should’ve. But he was a stubborn old guy. Mum said he never even considered calling me. Or coming with her when I visited. But then, I was exactly the same. As stubborn as him.’

He reached across the table, and took the notebook that was still in Ruby’s hands. ‘You know what this is? It’s the takings at the box office for each of my movies. Every single one, right from that stupid one up at the Gold Coast that bombed. If he could find how much I was paid, that’s there, too.’

He flipped through the pages, running his fingers over the print.

‘Isn’t that a little...?’ Ruby struggled to find the right word.

‘Harsh? Brutal? Mercenary? Yes. But that’s Dad. That’s what he understood: cold, hard cash. He could relate to that in a way he couldn’t relate to my career.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you that this is what he focused on?’

Dev handed her back the book. Ruby opened it on a new page, now understanding the scribbled letters and numbers. It was meticulous: the box office takings across the world, DVD sales—everything.

This wasn’t something thrown together in minutes—it was hours of work. Hours of research over months—years even. Crossing out numbers, updating them, adding them together.

‘No,’ she said, answering her own question.

‘No,’ he repeated.

‘I went to a doctor today,’ Dev said, later, in bed.

Ruby’s back was to him, his body wrapped around hers.

She was silent, long enough that he thought she might have fallen asleep.

‘Yes?’ she said, eventually.

Her head was tucked beneath his chin, and her blonde hair smelt like cake, or cookies. Vanilla-scented shampoo, she’d told him, when he’d asked.

He hadn’t been going to tell her this. Stupid, really, when he’d told her all that other stuff.

He hadn’t even told his mum. He’d driven straight from his doctor’s appointment in the city to the house where he’d grown up. Not on the advice of the GP, but because he’d planned on doing it anyway.

He’d made his decision the night before. Things had to change—he had to change—and no one but Devlin Cooper could do it.

‘He thinks I could be depressed,’