Free Epic by Ginger Voight

late,” he sneered as he pushed past me and disappeared into the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
    I sighed as I slumped into Maya’s recliner. I don’t know why I had hoped for more from an obviously sullen teenager, but it cut me to the quick that he considered anything I was doing as insincere. I was just trying to help however I could.
    I got the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t accept my help even if I offered it.
    Nevertheless, I headed back into the kitchen to prepare that evening’s meal. I had no intention of sharing this meal with Maya and Diego, since that would probably involve Sonny, who could drive up at any moment.
    Instead I prepared a plate for her and left the rest in the pans in the kitchen for the boys of the house to find when they got around to eating.
    I was out the door by four o’clock that afternoon.
    I checked my email the instant I got back to my suite, hoping that my investigator had verified Maya’s story so that I could do a little more than just clean the house or buy her food. The more her life unfolded in front of me, the more I wanted to fix it. She was stuck with a guy like Sonny, dealing with a sullen teenager like Diego, and no one in her life was looking out for her best interests. I got the feeling this was a running theme for her. As someone who understood exactly what that felt like, the more I got to know her the more I wanted to help, simply because I could.
    Why did this have to be a bad thing? Why did it have to be anything other than just one human, who had means, helping out another, who clearly had none?
    There was no email from my investigator, which prolonged my Las Vegas visit – and tied my hands – by at least one more day. There was, however, a surprise email from Griffin. Usually he handled all his business with me through his management company, so I was taken aback to find direct communication.
    Likely it was an ass-chewing for not showing up for our session that afternoon. I dropped him an email to let him know, just as a courtesy. But he might have missed the email and showed up anyway, peeved that I was sucking even more time away from all his adoring companions.
    I saved that email for last.
    Instead I answered an email from Iris and then tootled around on the Internet, which wasn’t any better than opening a possibly upsetting email. Coy Goddard was scattered all over the Internet thanks to a candid interview. He blasted the current administration’s healthcare reform, the growing acceptance of same-sex marriage and his favorite nail to slam, how the country was going to hell in a hand basket thanks to immoral celebrities who never had any accountability whenever they ran over innocent people, like his precious daughter, Shelby.
    “These aren’t heroes,” he told the interviewer. “The men and women who are fighting overseas, putting themselves in harm’s way to preserve our principles… they are the heroes. Just because someone can gyrate around on stage doesn’t make them a demigod. And I guarantee that I will shift the focus back to the traditional family unit and good, wholesome, American ideals.”
    “How is your daughter?” the TV host asked.
    “She’s on the road to recovery,” Coy answered. “But it hasn’t been easy on her. She’s learned a very hard lesson on who to trust. It was a blessing in disguise, because that’s what finally brought her home to us. She’s now focusing on her church membership, our campaign and of course, her new relationship with a boy her mother and I approve of wholeheartedly.”
    Just as I was about to turn off the video, the interviewer asked if she had any plans to go back into music. “There’s been some interest,” Coy answered. “But if she were to go back, I would have to have total control over her career. There cannot be a repeat of what happened in Los Angeles. The strongest contender would be an East Coast label.”
    I felt vomit rise in my throat. The only East Coast