Why Resist a Rebel? by Leah Ashton

Author:Leah Ashton [Ashton, Leah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780373207107
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-03-19T05:00:00+00:00

All week, his mum kept calling.

And every time, he let it ring out. She left messages, but after a while he didn’t bother listening to those, either.

Couldn’t listen, maybe?

It didn’t matter.

He knew what she was calling about. The funeral. It had been more than three months now.

That first call, the worst one, hadn’t been from his mum, but from his eldest brother, Jared. He was a doctor, a surgeon, actually, and he’d been using his doctor voice when Dev had answered his phone. As always, Dev had been on edge, used to his brother’s patronising calls, his regular requests to visit home more often. That his mum missed him.

Never his dad.

But this call had been different. The doctor-voice had been the thinnest of veneers, and it had taken no time at all for Jared to crack. And that was when Dev had finally understood that something was very, very wrong.

A heart attack. No warning. Nothing that could be done.

Dad’s dead. The funeral’s next week. You can stay with Mum. It would be good for her, she’s...lost.

Except he wasn’t going to the funeral. And he didn’t.

He was pathetic not to answer her calls, or to listen to her messages. Pathetic and weak and useless.

But he just couldn’t do it—he just couldn’t deal with it. Not yet.

It was ringing now, as it had every day since he’d arrived in Australia. Dev couldn’t stand it, so he pushed away from his dining-room table to where his phone sat on the kitchen bench, and declined the call.

Gutless.

That was what he was.

Eventually he walked to his bedroom, around his bed and straight to the en suite. The tray of sleeping tablets was looking bare. He knew he shouldn’t be taking them every night, his doctor had warned him of the dangers, of the side effects—but he couldn’t risk what happened on his last film again. Back then, each night, he’d had every intention of making it to set the next morning. He’d had his alarm set well before his call, he’d reread his script—everything. Then sleep wouldn’t come at all, or he’d wait too late to take the tablet that would lead to oblivion. And by the time he woke up it was too late. Or—worse—he did wake up in time, but in the raw of the morning, before he’d had a chance to wake up, to remind himself who he was, how hard he’d worked, what he’d achieved...he honestly didn’t care. He didn’t care enough to get out of bed, to get to set. He didn’t care about anything.

But this film was different. The mornings hadn’t changed, not really—more often than not he slept through his alarm, or threw it across the room—but when Graeme knocked on the door he’d drag himself out of bed, and with every step he’d get a tighter grip of what he was doing, where he had to be, what he was doing that day.

He had his pride. He was a professional, and a damned good actor. A whole film crew was waiting for him.

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