This is my first time writing fanfiction...or anything actually. My maiden voyage so to speak. Enjoy!

Nashville is not mine. And as for Rayna and Deacon, NO, they do not belong to me...(but Boy, if they did...)

PROLOGUE

He ruined her.

Funny how everyone always talks about how she ruined him. How she broke him. How she strung him along and wouldn't let him go, or leave him alone...How she would not cut off ties so he could learn to love again.

Yet no one ever really talks about what he did. No one ever talks about he wouldn't cut her loose. Nobody ever begged and pleaded with Him to walk away. And Just. Let. Her. Go. So that maybe, Just Maybe she might have the chance to one day LOVE again. The way that she loved him.

He ruined her for any other man.

Over a decade of sex with her husband, and she never once felt the way that Deacon could make her feel with one simple glance across a crowded room. Over a decade, and Not Once did she ever plead with Teddy to stop because she couldn't possibly come again. Not once did she ever experience a single bedroom 'first' with Teddy. Because after Deacon, there wasn't a single 'first' left...Not a first, not a last, not a single in-between. Deacon took them all. And then he was gone. And she was empty. She was hollow and broken. All orgasmed out. She was ruined.

And the funny thing is, she didn't even realize it at the time. Sure, she knew that things were different with Teddy. She knew that the sex was not and would not ever be the way it was with Deacon. But she just chalked it up to mundane married life, and began to identify with so many other married women who complain of those oh-so-common headaches that miraculously seemed to arrive like clockwork, shortly after dinner and just a tad before bed. And on the nights when she was feeling particularly guilty for being away for weeks on end and leaving Teddy to suffer alone without his wife's affection...well let's just say she got a lot of practice at 'faking it' and her shower nozzle got a lot of practice at 'making it'.

But it wasn't until after her marriage ended that she realized just how fucked up the situation really was. It wasn't until after she watched Deacon throw away thirteen years of sobriety and it wasn't until after that car crash damn near killed them both, no it wasn't until she gave him back his ring along with any hope of ever someday sharing ties that bind...It wasn't until after she walked away from him forever, along with his ring and her dreams and her late night fantasies of their happily ever after... It wasn't until after she walked away from Deacon that she realized she had probably walked away from any chance to ever love, or ever want, or ever need another man again.

You see, after the car crash, she had a new lease on life. She met Death face to face, stared him down, and somehow lived to kiss and tell.

She was strong. She was courageous. And above all else, she was in control of her own destiny.

She was in control of her life.

Her career.

Her family.

And most especially, her heart...

Or so she thought.

So she did what any woman in her shoes would have done.

She cherished every blessed moment with her beautiful little girls.

She spent hours upon hours retraining her voice, trying desperately to erase the damage that a near-death experience and weeks of incubation tend to cause.

She gathered up and breezed through a handful of lovers. Without any of the strings attached of course.

She did everything in her power to stay miles away from Deacon. She protected her heart with a ferocity she never even knew existed. She didn't talk to anyone about anything that might make me her 'Feel'. She turned her nose up at therapists. When doctors and Tandy urged her to deal with the trauma in order to heal, she flashed them that million dollar grammy-winning smile and let them know real quick-like that she didn't need any therapy. She. Was. Fine. She was better than Fine. The past was the past, and she was Done with it. Rayna James 2.0, alive and well, and eager to move forward - all footloose and fancyfree.

No, it wasn't until after all that when she realized she was broken.

It wasn't until after she slept with three different men in less than three months that she began to acknowledge that she just might not be totally fine. That she might have some issues. That she just might be seriously fucked up.

First there was Liam. And he was hot. And she was horny and flattered and just anxious to get back up on the horse. It was fun and quick and frenzied and worked wonders for her self-esteem. But she walked away, scratching her head and thinking maybe if there had just been a little more foreplay...?

Then there was Luke. And he was appealing in a 'Claybourne-Wanna-Be' sorta way. He had gone out of his way to help with Scarlott and there wasn't any reason why she shouldn't Want to sleep with with him. He was a charming lover, energetic and eager-to-please. And after a few weeks in bed with him, she didn't just walk, she ran away... all the while thinking if he knew just how much of a 'Claybourne-Wanna-Be' he actually was, he probably never would have unzipped his fly. She wondered then if maybe size really does matter...?

And then there was Jeff. What else is there to say? After Teddy, and Liam, and Luke, she was just yearning for something different. Something crazy. Something angry. A rush of passion and strong wills. So one second she was in his office arguing with him for the umpteenth time about her album and the next second she was ripping off his shirt. Why the hell not? Maybe opposites really do attract? But when he responded to her aggression by gracefully picking her up and tenderly laying her down on that leather loveseat in a corporate high rise overlooking downtown Nashville, she quickly realized that she had already tested that whole 'opposites attract' theory with Teddy, and it just wasn't all it was cracked up to be. 'Been there, done that...' But since she started it, she felt sorta obligated to finish it. So she went through the motions in an age-old perfected performance that would have made Harry blush red with lust and Sally glow green with envy. And while Jeff thrust away, she squeezed her eyes as tight as she could, determined to keep the damned tears from breaking loose. And when one stubborn tear refused to be held captive any longer, spilling out from the corner of her eye and rolling down her cheek to mix with the the saliva from Jeff's sloppy ceaser-salad kisses, it was then that she finally begin to wonder if something might be physically wrong with her. After yelling and screaming and cussing Jeff out then shoving her tongue down his throat before they ever had a change of beat...After watching him with feigned interest as he carefully removed and folded each piece of his clothing, and reached in his desk drawer for a lubricated condom ribbed for 'her' pleasure...After Jeff proceeded to give her exactly what she had asked for in an eerily calm and somewhat leisurely fashion...she lay numb, detached, only one thing on her mind...

Deacon would not have used a condom. Deacon would have turned me over the nearest flat service and thrust into me before he ever managed to get his pants halfway down his thighs. Deacon would have made me come over and over again.

And it was then that it finally hit her. As Jeff came inside her, and that lonely stray tear finished its slow descent down her sweaty cheek and found a new home on her now-swollen lips...it was then that she finally knew. She was chasing a ghost who wasn't even dead. She was never going to want...to need...to crave another man again. She was so not fine. She was fucked-up and used-up. She was done with Deacon for good. But she was ruined.