CHAPTER 27 #3
The song ended and he walked backstage, his face red and his scowl landing squarely on Jamie. Strands of pink clung to his arms and boots as he pointed an accusing finger at her.
“Did you put them up to this?” he demanded.
Jamie shook her head, still grinning. “This one was all them.”
“Why the hell did they do that? ”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess you raised them right, Clayton.”
The bus was parked but the tension inside was anything but still.
It should have been a great show at Red Rocks, the kind of night people talked about for years.
Instead, Jamie sat stiffly by the window, arms crossed, eyes locked on nothing in particular.
Clayton was on the other side of the lounge slouched deep into the couch, hat pulled low, fingers tapping idly against his knee.
Neither had spoken since the doors shut behind them.
Outside the parking lot stretched empty under the dull glow of overhead lights. The crew had cleared out. The band was on their bus. The two of them remained, trapped in a silence heavier than the disaster of the night itself.
Buddy climbed aboard, his phone in hand and his expression even darker than before. “Jamie, Clayton—come here. Now.”
Jamie sighed, taking a seat on the couch. She hadn’t done anything wrong but she could already feel a lecture coming.
Buddy flipped his phone around. It was Shorty on FaceTime.
Fuck.
“You two need to knock this off,” Shorty barked. It was the first time she’d heard him raise his voice, especially at his artists.
“I didn’t do anything,” she defended herself.
Shorty wasn’t buying it. “Oh yeah? What about the guitar strings? The T-shirt cannon?” He folded his arms. “Buddy told me everything.”
Jamie was relieved he didn’t know about the bong water. That would have really set him off .
“They were just pranks,” she said, shrugging.
“I had to get even,” Clayton added. “She’s been kicking my ass.”
Shorty’s patience snapped. “I’ll be the one kicking both your asses if this doesn’t stop.”
Dad was mad.
“One more incident and I’m getting you your own bus, Jamie,” Shorty threatened.
“But—”
“But nothing.” His cowboy hat dipped lower as he shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Yes, sir,” Clayton said.
Shorty looked at Jamie, waiting.
She sighed. “Yes, sir. No more pranks.”
The call ended and Buddy gave a nod before walking off.
Clayton turned to her, extending his hand. “Truce?”
She arched her eyebrow. “I’d hardly call it a truce. I won—four pranks to two.”
“Truce, for now. Until the end of the tour.”
Jamie eyed his hand for a beat before shaking it. “Until the end of the tour. But the score stands.”
It was probably for the best that Shorty put an end to the pranks. The things Jamie had planned for Clayton would have landed her in serious trouble—maybe even in handcuffs. And with her exams coming up right after the tour ended she needed to focus on studying, not revenge .
After Denver they headed west, playing shows from Salt Lake City to Portland before heading south.
The concerts were well-received but the energy behind the scenes still hadn’t bounced back.
Everyone was polite but no one was having fun.
The band kept things professional, the crew stuck to their routines, and even the girls had lost interest in the usual road-trip distractions.
Long drives, bad food, and tension-filled silence had drained the excitement from the tour.
Tomorrow they were playing in Inglewood, a suburb of Los Angeles. Jamie wasn’t looking forward to it. She’d lived in LA for five years but it had never felt like home. The idea of going back twisted her stomach into knots.
Would Derrick show up? Worse, would he bring Matilda? It would be just like him to try to rattle her, to make sure she knew he had the upper hand. She had to prepare for the worst.
During the six-hour drive south she tried to sleep but couldn’t.
Every time she closed her eyes her mind spun with different scenarios.
What would she say if she saw him? She’d put both Derrick and Matilda on the “no backstage” list, but that didn’t mean much.
He was one of Hollywood’s biggest stars—rules didn’t apply to him.
She’d seen it firsthand, watching him breeze past velvet ropes, ushered into sold-out restaurants while other people waited for hours. He never turned down special treatment.
As the bus sped toward LA she stared out the window at the passing lights, trying to calm the storm in her head. But the closer they got, the harder it became to breathe.
Tomorrow she’d have to face it.
Jamie rolled out of bed and walked toward the front lounge. Maybe a cup of chamomile tea would help her fall asleep.
“Hey there,” Clayton whispered .
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice. She hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, but she wasn’t entirely unhappy about it.
“What are you doing up?” she asked, flipping on the kettle.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He lifted the length of rope in his hands. “Figured I’d tie some knots.”
She pulled a tea bag from the cupboard and tore open the package. “Does that happen a lot?”
“More often than not.” He twisted the rope between his fingers. “What about you?”
“Same.” She dropped the bag into a mug and poured steaming water over it. “I’m worried about playing LA—Inglewood, I mean.”
Clayton watched her closely. “Why?”
She sighed and sank onto the couch beside him. “I’m afraid Derrick might show up. With his fiancée .”
“I see.” He scratched at his now fully grown-in beard. “Even if he does, you don’t have to see him.”
She blew gently on her tea. “Derrick can get in anywhere.”
“We’ve got extra security at the venue.” He placed the rope beside him. “And the threats—have there been more?”
She shook her head. “Not since St. Louis, I think.”
Clayton frowned. “That’s good.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. It almost makes me more nervous, like it’s the calm before the storm.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “I’ll talk to security.”
“Thanks, but it won’t help. You don’t understand—security guards are usually the problem. They love his tough-guy movies.”
Clayton’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll make sure they understand whose side they’re on. ”
She sipped her tea, letting the warmth settle in her chest. They sat in silence for a moment, Clayton untying and tying knots, Jamie staring into her cup.
Then he broke the quiet. “I was thinking . . .”
“Careful.” She looked at him. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
He smirked. “Real funny. I’m serious.”
She raised her brow. “Oh?”
“I’m going to change the setlist. I want you to sing with me during the encore.”
She tilted her head, confused. “We already do ‘I Did a Good Job of Drinking.’ And lately I’ve been singing ‘More Bad Days Than Good.’”
His eyes lit up. “I know. But I want to add another duet. The crowd loves it when we sing together.”
She studied him. “Do you have a song in mind?”
He grinned. “‘A Little Bit Country, a Little Bit Rock ’n’ Roll.’”
She blinked. “That’s a song?”
Clayton grabbed his phone from the table and pulled up a YouTube video.
Jamie watched dumbfounded as a dark-haired young man in a tux and a woman who looked like his twin twirling around in a red chiffon dress belted out a corny melody through dazzling smiles. By the time the video ended she was laughing so hard she had to set down her mug.
“You can’t be serious,” she gasped.
“Dead serious.” He held up his phone. “Donny and Marie Osmond had themselves a huge hit with this song.”
She wiped her eyes. “And you want me to sing ‘I’m a little bit country’?”
“No, I’ll sing that part.” He smirked.
She exhaled a laugh, still skeptical. “It’s kind of cheesy. ”
“That’s the beauty of it,” he said. “The audience will eat it up.”
She mulled it over. “I don’t even know that song.”
“We’ll rehearse as much as we need to.”
She stared at him. Was it the sleep deprivation or was she actually considering this ridiculous idea?
“Okay,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll give it a shot.”
Clayton picked up his rope again. “Now that I’ve convinced you, why don’t I teach you how to tie a constrictor knot?”
She eyed him. “Why?”
“Tying knots relieves tension.” He placed his hands over hers, guiding her through the motions. His fingers were warm and steady as he folded the rope into a figure eight and looped it over itself. “Now you try.”
Jamie took the rope and attempted to copy his movements but the loops slipped, unraveling before they could take shape.
Clayton chuckled.
She tried again, then huffed, handing the rope back. “Great. Now I’m more frustrated than when I started.”
He smirked. “Guess we’ll just have to keep practicing.”
She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling.
The bus was in Inglewood when Jamie woke up. It was difficult to believe she was only thirty minutes from where she used to live with Derrick. Then she remembered she’d agreed to sing that corny song. With a groan she pulled the comforter over her head, wishing she could stay there forever .
Her wish didn’t last long. The twins opened her door, like they did every morning, then launched themselves onto her bed. She didn’t know how anyone found time for self-pity with kids around. Sighing, she got up and followed them to the front lounge, still feeling worn out.
The girls had been practicing with their karaoke machine and they were eager to sing something to her.
She poured a cup of coffee and sank onto the couch just as the music started.
At first she didn’t recognize the song, until Emily began to sing “The Sweetest Gift” by Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, and Linda Ronstadt.
Charlotte joined in, their voices blending in perfect harmony.
Jamie glanced at Clayton, who watched them with quiet pride.
How had she not known they could sing like this? Then again it made sense—their parents were incredible singers in their own right.