“Where exactly are we headed?” Jamie asked. She stretched out her legs, her combat boots knocking softly against the door.
They’d left Clayton behind on the bus, feeding him some nonsense about needing to shop for “girl stuff.” He hadn’t questioned it, just grunted and waved them off, looking almost relieved to be spared a trip to some imaginary lingerie store.
“Maryland, it looks like.” Ruth tilted her phone sideways, chewing her gum.
“What’s in Maryland?”
“DC’s biggest country station.”
Jamie sat up. “What?”
“The contemporary hit stations aren’t playing your record,” Ruth said, still scrolling. “But it climbed to number three on the country charts.”
Jamie groaned and slumped back against the seat. “I can’t believe my first top-three record is a country song.” She stared out the window atthe endless stretch of highway. They could have been driving anywhere in America. “Doesn’t he annoy the hell out of you?”
“Clayton? Not at all.” Ruth giggled. “He’s funny.”
“He thinks he is because you’re encouraging him.” Jamie rolled her eyes. “By the way, what’s up with Derrick? I haven’t heard from him.”
She hadn’t reached out first and she wasn’t going to. She’d stand her ground until he came around, like always.
“His movie premiere is tonight,” Ruth said, flicking her screen.
Weird.
Jamie and Derrick had blocked each other on social media, so she had no idea where he was. “He usually begs me to go to those.”
Derrick loved the whole power-couple thing, but she couldn’t have cared less. All she wanted was to write songs, win a Grammy, and live peacefully with Poppy far away from all this noise.
When they arrived at the radio station Jamie knew it would be a bust. She was expecting a DC-based station with a rock audience, but instead they ended up in some random country music pocket of Maryland called Rockville—the irony.
The host was friendly enough but clearly unprepared, flipping through a stack of crumpled notes like he’d printed them five minutes before she walked in. Jamie tried to engage, forcing a polite smile as he stumbled through generic questions: “What’s your writing process?” “Who are your influences?” She gave the shortest answers she could get away with.
When the host pivoted to a question about the evolution of country music, she gave up. She had nothing to add to this conversation, not when Clayton was sitting beside her practically vibrating with the need to jump in. This was his world, not hers.
After the interview Jamie hopped on the bus, knowing she was only forty minutes away from civilization. There wouldn’t be any cowboy hats or “howdy, ma’ams” in the nation’s capital.
“That went well,” Clayton remarked while shuffling a deck of cards on the table.
Jamie boarded the bus and stood over him. “You think?”
“Shoot yeah!” He kept shuffling. “They couldn’t get enough of us at the station.”
“They couldn’t get enough ofyou.” She pointed at him. “He didn’t ask me anything aboutmymusic.” Not to mention, Clayton had regaled them with stories about “ranch life” and other things she couldn’t relate to.
“You’ve got to jump in there,” he said. “Control the narrative.”
She took a seat across from him. “I don’t have anything to add to the conversation.”
“Sure you do.” He put down the deck. “You’re Jamie Keaton.”
“Whatever that means.” She picked up the cards and shuffled the deck like a pro, riffling them between her fingers. “I didn’t even know people liked country music in Maryland.”
“Where did you learn to shuffle like that?” he asked, leaning forward on the table, watching her hands.
“I’m from Vegas,” she reminded him.
“No one’sfromVegas.” He rolled his eyes, not believing her.
