Free Pizza My Heart 2 by Glenna Sinclair

anything to make you feel better, and if this is what it takes, I’m happy to serve.”
    “Just leave me alone. Please.” This wasn’t going to plan—if I even had a plan. I was just hurting and lashing out indiscriminately. If it were Chaz in front of me, I’d be giving him the same earful. It was awful that Devon was prepared to let me lay into him. What Kelly had done—and what my parents had done—wasn’t his fault. There was no way any of us could have suspected that was going to happen.
    I guessed I was angriest at myself. Somehow, I should’ve avoided crying, should’ve avoided the tough questions, like Chaz had coached me. Of course, he hadn’t been able to coach me about what to do if my parents resurfaced in the middle of a live television interview, but there it was.
    “I’ll go,” he said. “But you really can’t stay in here forever.”
    He turned to leave. “Devon, wait.”
    “What is it?”
    “This sucks,” I said, slapping my hands against the bed, frustrated and helpless. “I love you, but this fucking sucks.”
    “I know it does.”
    “I’m just not ready to get back out there, okay? My life is in shambles right now.”
    “I get it, June. I just hate seeing you torn up like this.”
    “I wish Nana were here.” The words escaped my mouth and I gasped, covering it, wishing I could unsay them. What a ludicrous thing to wish for. Nana was dead and gone. She’d chosen to be dead. Wishing for her was no better than wishing for a time machine to fix my problems. I was a grown woman. I had to deal with this.
    “It’s okay to wish Nana were still here,” Devon said. “I wish she were still here, too. Can you imagine what she would’ve done to Kelly—and your parents—if she had been there backstage? I don’t think Chaz would’ve been able to hold both of us back.
    I gave an involuntary guffaw at the picture of Nana wheeling on set, her eyes blazing with a holy fury, chasing everyone away as Chaz tried to hang on to one of the handles of her wheelchair, dragged along by her rage.
    Devon grinned and kissed my head. “I have to head out for a taping. I’ll bring back some takeout or something to eat. You in the mood for anything?”
    “I think I could go for pizza,” I said, smiling as he laughed.
    “Pizza, it is.”
    I took a shower, flushing sticky products from my hair, lathering it up with shampoo and rinsing it three times until I was satisfied. I scrubbed at my face with a washcloth until the entire surface was black and tan with the makeup that had coated my face for whole days. It would be a miracle if I escaped this without a rash of pimples.
    Finally, I got dressed into my own clothes, towel-dried my hair, and padded downstairs to go explore.
    I should’ve been doing something—anything—else, but I was finding it nearly impossible to leave the comfort and confines of Devon’s palace. I was unsure of myself, of my place in his life. I didn’t want to get in the way of his life any more than I already had. I was well aware, thanks to Chaz, that I was a distraction—something that kept Devon from realizing his full potential.
    But every time I tried to move on, tried to go back to Dallas or get away from Devon, he protested. He wanted me with him. He wanted to take care of me in spite of what Chaz was saying.
    So I tried to stay out of the way. Tried to keep quiet. Hung back every time Devon asked me to go do something with him, to go make an appearance with him. I didn’t understand it. If I really was as much trouble for Devon as Chaz told me I was, I didn’t understand why Devon kept on asking me to go places with him. I thought he would’ve wanted me swept under a rug somewhere, so that’s what I tried to do to myself.
    Hide.
    But with the giant house empty and me with nothing but the remnants of my grief and my temerity over my newfound infamy, I had to keep myself distracted. It was probably ungrateful of me. Devon had done so much— was doing so much.