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“Why?” I ask, frowning. “Why would he do that?”
“Probably got tired of putting up with his asshole son.”
“No, that’s not an answer.” I glare at him. “Tell me why he did that. And…” I lick my lips. “Is that why you didn’t show up for the funeral? Because of the will. Because you were mad at him?”
“I didn’t come to the funeral,” he bites out, “because Icouldn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
His fingers grow punishingly tight around my wrists. “It means that if I’d set foot on the Davidson property or anywhere near my family, I would’ve been arrested.”
“A-arrested?”
“Yes. That was my father’s last wish. To get a restraining order against me.” Then, “His lawyer was very helpful in explaining all the terms over the call.”
My breaths are very loud in this moment.
Very loud and very broken too I think.
Very strangled.
Just like my heart inside my chest.
My first instinct is to say that I can’t believe it. That Howard Davidson, the generous and kind man that he was, would never have done something like this to his son. He loved his son. He did everything that he could to reform him while Reign did everything thathecould to rebuff and reject and disappoint his family.
But that’s not true, is it?
That’s not true at all.
I’m beginning to see that.
“You can wipe that fucking look off your face,” he tells me harshly. “I probably wouldn’t have showed up, even without the restraining order.”
He would have.
I know it.
I know it in my heart.
Even though I’vejustfound out that I probably don’t know anything about his father and their relationship — like, two seconds ago — and even though I’ve only known Reign,reallyknown him, for about two weeks, I still can say with every certainty that he would have showed up for his dad’s funeral.
Even if he’d done it begrudgingly.
And with anger.
Because there’s a lot of that here. Anger.
Hidden depths. Hidden things that I’ve only recently started to suspect but wasn’t sure about.
But instead of correcting him, I ask, “Why does no one know about this? About your father disowning you, taking out a restraining order against you?”
“Because that’s how my father did things,” he says. “In secret.”
“I-in secret.”
“Yes.” A pulse jumps on his bloody cheek. “Because he loved to play the good guy. The big man that could never do anything wrong. That everybody loved.”
They did love him, Mr. Howard Davidson.
