Clayton nodded, his tone softening. “After the show I talked to Jamie. Sat her down in my dressing room. I told her how I wanted to set thingsright.” He paused, swirling the water in his glass. “Sometimes you’ve got to stir the pot a little to bring out the truth. Humiliating Derrick on live TV wasn’t just payback—it was my way of showing Jamie that I’m a man of honor, and that I have her back.”
Nolan settled into the couch, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and relief. “Clayton, you always did know how to serve up justice with a side of redemption.”
“Nothing’s sweeter than seeing a snake get caught in its own hiss.” Clayton chuckled, the sound rich and warm in the quiet of his home. “Sometimes even a man like me gotta fight for what’s right, and a little live TV magic can set things straight.”
“So where does that leave you and Jamie?”
A slow, confident grin spread across Clayton’s face. “Jamie agreed to be my opener on the tour. It gives me a real fine chance to show her how we do things in country music. And maybe win her over while I’m at it.”
CHAPTER 23
JAMIE
Over the next few weeks Jamie immersed herself in studying, rehearsals, and trips to the ranch. She’d not only agreed to open for Clayton’s sold-out tour—24 shows in 58 days—but had also decided to perform with his band. Shorty explained that the musicians in her band had already taken gigs with other artists, leaving her with little choice.
For the time being Poppy was staying with Nolan, as the puppies were only six weeks old. The spacious ranch offered plenty of room for the pups to play, and they were nearly as fast as their mom. Jamie’s day was filled with studying, followed by a few hours with Clayton and his band at their rehearsal space before heading to Franklin. Since she didn’t need Ruth during the day, her assistant drove to the ranch in the morning to help care for the dogs and returned to Shorty’s penthouse at night.
Jamie took a well-deserved break on weekends by attending the twins’ softball games. Charlotte, the starting pitcher, had a wicked slider reminiscent of her dad’s, while Emily dominated as the catcher with a .400 batting average. This season Clayton served as the assistant coach—stepping back from the head coaching role since he’d be away at the end ofthe season—and even took her to a few Nashville Sounds home games at First Horizon Park. As a part-owner of the team he made sure they were treated like royalty.
Almost every evening Birdie cooked dinner, and the family gathered around the table while the twins monopolized the conversation. The girls were hilarious, sharing stories about school and discussing which teachers they thought were mean. It took Jamie some time to get used to the constant chatter, but soon she began to look forward to it, genuinely invested in the twins’ lives. They’d even text her unflattering pictures of their dad while she was studying, and she’d forward them to Clayton along with laughing emojis.
Tonight was the last time she would see Clayton’s family before they left in the morning. She’d miss them more than she expected. Their warmth, their effortless way of making her feel at home—it was a stark contrast to the uncertainty waiting for her on tour. The thought of playing in larger stadiums should have been thrilling, but doubt lingered. What if country audiences didn’t accept her? What if she didn’t belong?
“You’ve been quiet all day,” Clayton remarked as he drove to the ranch after rehearsal. “Cat got your tongue?”
Jamie fixed her gaze on the passing countryside, her thoughts adrift in the rhythm of the road. “That’s a really weird saying.”
“It’s an idiom.”
“A what?”
“An idiom,” he repeated. “An expression or saying that has a non-literal meaning.”
She pulled out her phone and typed notes, murmuring, “That question might be on my exam.” Slumping in her seat with her head bowed, she sighed. “Jesus, I’m never going to pass the language section—I don’t even understandwhat an idiom is.”
“Sure you do. I just told you.” Clayton kept his eyes on the road and laughed.
“This isn’t funny, Clayton.” She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.
“What’s wrong now?”
She sighed, unsure of what was wrong with her. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I feel kind of down.”
“Ah, the homesick blues.”
“This is very unlike the Bob Dylan song.”
“‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ is about the civil rights movement,” he said. “I was thinking more of the poem by Langston Hughes. I get the same feeling when I’m about to go on tour.”
“Finally,” she said, “an artist we can both appreciate, though I’ve never really known homesickness.” She met his eyes and continued, “After all, how can I miss a home I’ve never had?”
They pulled up in front of his parents’ house and he nodded toward the window. “At least for now, consider this your de facto home.”
“I’m just a guest, Clayton,” she replied as she stepped out of the truck and climbed the steps.
He joined her from behind, softening his tone, “You’re family, now.”
The atmosphere was subdued at dinner, reminding her of families bidding farewell before a war. Yet they weren’t heading into battle, they were setting off on a two-month tour that was meant to be fun.
