“I didn’t peg you as the type.”
He smirked. “Just practical.”
She hesitated, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll take you up on it.”
Clayton nodded and went back to knotting a piece of rope. “Are we still hitting the Hall of Fame?” he asked, hopeful.
Jamie faked another cough, just light enough to sound real but not overdone. “I think I should rest before the show. You and Ruth go.”
Clayton frowned as the knot slipped through his fingers. “Won’t be the same without you.”
“I still want to go,” Ruth chimed in.
Jamie took a slow sip of water, stalling. “You should. It might be your only chance. Take Buddy—he knows all the stories.”
Clayton studied her for a moment, like he wasn’t quite convinced.
Jamie forced a tired sigh. “Go. Have fun.”
After a beat he nodded. “All right. But text if you need anything.”
She smiled weakly. “Will do.”
After Ruth and Clayton left, Jamie slipped inside the venue to meet the band. She needed to rehearse a new song for tonight, and faking an illness was the only way to do it without Clayton or Buddy catching on. Her revenge depended on it.
The first few run-throughs were solid, but she wanted perfection. They experimented with different arrangements until the song clicked into place. Johnny grinned and told her it was even better than the original—which said a lot.
Two hours later they wrapped up. Jamie felt confident her prank would top them all, and she could hardly wait for tonight’s performance.
Back in the bedroom she set the stage: cough drops, syrup, and a jar of Vicks VapoRub lined up neatly on the nightstand. She burrowed under the covers and practiced a weak cough, making sure every detail sold the lie.
When Clayton returned she’d be the picture of misery. And by the time she stepped on stage he wouldn’t know what hit him.
An hour later Jamie heard Ruth and Clayton step onto the bus. She quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Knock, knock,” Clayton said.
She forced a groggy tone. “Enter.”
The door creaked open and Clayton stepped inside, holding a brown paper bag. “Sorry,” he said, offering it to her. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Jamie took the bag, glancing at his new camouflage baseball cap that saidrock & roll hall of fame.
“What’s this?” she asked, peeking inside.
“Chicken noodle soup.”
For a split second guilt flickered through her. But not enough to cancel her plan. Not even close.
“Thanks.” She pulled out the container, warmth seeping through her palms. “How was it?”
Clayton sat on the edge of the bed, his excitement palpable. “Well, I’ll be! That Bon Jovi exhibit alone was worth the trip. And you weren’t lying—Buddy’s the best dang tour guide. Knows more about Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd than a preacher knows the Good Book.”
She unwrapped the plastic spoon and dipped it into the soup, blowing on it before taking a careful sip. “Mmm. This is good.”
“They’ve got an Elvis display too. Tons of guitars, suits, pictures . . .” He shook his head with a laugh. “But not a single shot of Arthur.”
