What did Deacon sing every third Thursdays at the Bluebird? There are two sides to every story. Let's explore the genesis of the songs he wrote for and about Rayna and performed every third Thursday and her reaction to them. For surely, she couldn't resist knowing what was in Deacon's heart, and just maybe in hers.
This is a co-write with, and the brainchild of, DeynaAU. We'll be taking opposite POV's and presenting how we think Rayna and Deacon lived these songs and how they moved them. We hope you enjoy as we explore Chip's songs that never made it on the show, but are very revealing about the Deacon/Rayna relationship.
Whiskey Lips
They walked off the stage together, as they always did. She was pulling her ear buds out as they walked. She turned to look at him. "Great show tonight, didn't you think?" she asked.
"You killed it, like you always do, Ray," he said, with a grin.
She smiled and briefly gripped his arm. "You saved me out there a time or two, you know that," she said, with a laugh. She tapped his arm with her elbow. "You coming to the after party?"
He shook his head. "Nah."
"You sure?"
"You know it ain't my thing, Rayna," he said, with a shrug. "Me and after parties, they just don't mix too well."
She wound the ear buds up. "Okay, if you're sure. I guess I'll see you tomorrow when the buses pull out." She stopped as they reached her dressing room.
He nodded. "Yep. See you then." He kept walking. He wondered how long she stood there, watching him, but he didn't turn around to look. When he got to the elevator, he thought that maybe he was finally at a point where he could navigate an after party, that he was six years sober and should be more confident in himself. But it always came back to the fact that he wasn't doing this with her anymore, and that always made it hard.
When he got to his room, he leaned his guitar case against the wall and tossed down his messenger bag. He went to the mini-bar and pulled out a soft drink. It was one of those things Rayna had written into her contract, that at any hotel where there was a mini-bar, his was emptied of alcohol. It was his request and she always honored it.
He popped open the can and took a long swallow, then sat back and closed his eyes. He replayed the show in his head, thinking about what had gone well and what needed tightening up. It was his job to make Rayna, and the rest of the band, look and sound good and he took it seriously. She had repeated a verse twice on 'American Beauty', but that was really the only misstep. He smiled to himself, knowing she would beat herself up for it. She was probably having a hard time concentrating right now, in fact, because she'd be thinking about it.
He thought about the after party. Me and after parties, they just don't mix too well. That was true. That was the other reason he didn't like doing them. Back in the days when he was drinking, it was a surefire way for him to get drunk and for him and Rayna to end up in a fight. In the early days, before his first stay in rehab, it wasn't uncommon for both of them to drink. Whiskey was his drug of choice and she would drink it with him.
Back in those days, when she got a little tipsy, he'd call her Whiskey Lips. She would giggle and it would usually end up with them in bed. As time wore on, though, she was less amused by it and she'd get angry when he'd call her that. Sometimes he wasn't able to tell what he was more addicted to, the cheap whiskey or her. He hadn't been able to give up either one and for a long time, she had stayed beside him.
The day finally came, though, when she went away and that's when he'd had to acknowledge that the whiskey had taken everything he'd ever loved away from him. He hadn't been able to kick it until she'd moved on, marrying someone else and starting a family. He'd lost her and that's when he knew he had a choice to make. He could keep drinking until it put him in the ground or he could figure out how to move on himself. He'd decided on the latter.
The thing was, she was still his addiction, even if he couldn't have her, just like the whiskey was still an addiction, even though he worked hard every day not to give in to that either. He could hear a melody in his head then and he got up from the chair and pulled his notebook out of his messenger bag. He grabbed his guitar and then sat on the loveseat, opening up his notebook. He started to write, knowing that, yet again, every song he wrote was about Rayna.
He'd been playing at the Bluebird for years, all the way back to when he'd first met Rayna. In those days after he'd come back from that final trip to rehab, the Bluebird had been a saving grace. It had embraced him and given him a place to share the songs that came from the deepest, darkest places in his life. He'd had a lot to say, when he came out of rehab that last time, a lot of penance and forgiveness to write about. He'd lost everything he'd ever loved and he'd written more songs than he could count about that.
Eventually Erika had offered him a regular spot, every third Thursday, when he was off the road. He'd developed a bit of a following and most times the place was nearly full. One of the things he'd learned in rehab was that having a schedule and being disciplined in adhering to it was helpful. Having the discipline of a place to come and do what he loved best – play music – had helped to heal him.
He sometimes thought that spending his time writing songs about Rayna made him look foolish and like he couldn't move on. The truth was, he really couldn't completely move on. He would love her for the rest of his life and he would wait for her just as long. The only way he could work through all that was to write what he felt and so he wrote about her. He sang his songs and he sang their songs, at least the ones she'd never do on stage anymore.
'Whiskey Lips' was always a favorite. He'd been playing it at the Bluebird for every third Thursday since he'd started doing this. It would start off slow, then end with a bang. He'd written it on a night when she'd weighed heavy on his mind. He usually saved it for last because it always got the crowd on its feet. He didn't know if anyone who came to listen to him knew it was about Rayna Jaymes, but he didn't really care. All he knew was that every time he performed it, he could taste those sweet whiskey lips just the same as he had all those years ago.
Lost in her thoughts, Rayna was hurriedly leaving The Frothy Monkey with her triple mocha latte, when she nearly ran over her old friend, Pam Tillis. "Hey, Rayna!" Pam exclaimed.
"Pam, how are you? Sorry about that."
"No worries. Been there, done that!"
"Hey, I caught your performance at the Opry last week. Fabulous! That new album sounds like it's going to give the good ole boys and the tween twits a run for their money on the charts!"
"Oh, thanks, girlfriend. One can only hope there are still people out there that appreciate Johnny and George and Patsy's pure country. And, by the way, Rayna, you look great."
"Thank you! You'd think by the way the label treats me, my music and I should be put out to pasture."
"Don't you listen to them. You are still hot and have the pipes of an angel."
"Well, thank you. You always did know how to blow smoke up my ass!"
"Speaking of hot, I caught Deacon at the Bluebird last Thursday. I know you've moved on and have a wonderful and adoring husband and beautiful girls, but I don't think Deacon has resigned himself to the reality that you two will not end up together."
Rayna sighed. Pam was right, she did love Teddy, but if she were being truthful with herself, she'd have to admit that Deacon would always hold a special place in her heart that no one would be able to fill. He was her soulmate. He still knew her better than anyone. Since Daphne's birth, they seemed to have settled into a comfortable, amicable place. He was her best friend. "What do you mean?"
"He sang this song, 'I Miss You and Me' that just screamed, 'I miss Rayna'."
"I could flatter myself, but Deacon has had many women before and after me."
"Yeah, but you two were a once in a lifetime love. You fought hard, but you loved even harder. But, you're right, maybe I was just reading things into it."
"Well, hey, listen, I see the police tagging cars and I think my meter may have expired, so I'm going to hightail it out of here. It was nice catching up. Let's plan to get together soon."
"I'd love that. Say hello to Teddy for me."
It nagged at Rayna the whole drive home. She was happy for Deacon that he had his old every third Thursday slot back at the Bluebird now that they were off the road for a few months. But, her heart hurt thinking that he still pined for her. His song could have been for another woman, but Rayna highly doubted it. He had other women, but she had to admit he still looked at her with that raw want. When she occasionally caught his eye, he quickly looked away or busied himself with something else.
The songs that they wrote together and the ones that they wrote when they were together were an open book to their hearts. They let themselves be vulnerable in their songs and reflected their truth. Sometimes it was easier for them to sing the things they couldn't say. After one of their infamous fights and one of Deacon's benders, Rayna penned 'This Love Ain't Big Enough'. Undertaker waitin' on somebody to go down / I'm gonna take what's left of this love / And put it in the ground
Rayna chuckled to herself remembering how Deacon came back on his hands and knees, sober, asking her to take him back after he heard that. She also remembered that they had the most incredible make up sex that night. Just thinking of it made Rayna blush. Teddy was a gentle, giving lover, but Deacon was her teacher. He could do things to her and get her to do things to him that made her tingle just thinking about it.
As the week went by, Rayna thought more and more about Deacon's song. It nagged at her and also piqued her curiosity. Was Deacon still carrying a torch for her? On one hand she hoped not. She wanted him to be happy. But, on the other hand, she didn't know how she would feel if Deacon had those same feelings for another woman. Would it tarnish the love that they had? Would it make it all a lie? She knew she had no right to feel this way. She chose Teddy. Deacon deserved to have someone special, too. He deserved to have a family.
She was so proud of him. She knew he fought every day to stay sober. He'd stayed sober for 13 years. He'd been sober for all of Maddie's life. Rayna's heart ached at the thought. He had a family. She took it from him. Now apparently he was still writing songs about her.
"Where you goin', Momma?" Daphne asked.
"Hey sweet girl. You should be in bed. Tonight's a school night," Rayna chided.
"I heard you in the shower."
"Well, sorry if I disturbed you, honey." She looked at Daphne and then over at Teddy who was reading the paper on the couch. "I have a meeting with Marshall to go over the plans for the album and the tour. Now how about before I leave I get you off to bed and tucked in?"
"Yay! I like when you tuck me in. Can I get a song, too?"
Rayna always found it hard to deny Daphne anything. The girl had the sweetest disposition. "Okay. One quick song." With that Rayna, grabbed her up and dotted her face with kisses as she carried her upstairs.
When she was done, she scurried back down the steps. Deacon was scheduled to go on at 9:30 and it was a good twenty minute drive to the Bluebird from Belle Meade. "Should I wait up for you or will you be late?" Teddy asked.
Rayna bent down to give him a quick kiss. "I should be home about 11:30. Wait up if you'd like, but if you're tired go on ahead to bed. I'll try to be quiet."
"Okay. Hope the meeting goes well. I'm sorry I put you in the position where you need to go back on the road right now."
"Hey, don't worry about it babe. I'll see you later or tomorrow over coffee."
Rayna entered the Bluebird through the back door. "Erika!"
"Hi, Rayna! So good to see you. Let me get you a table down front."
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to keep my presence quiet. Would it be possible for me to hang in the worker's locker area to hear Deacon's set? I don't want him to know I'm here."
"No problem. Can I get you a drink or a bite to eat?" "A whiskey neat would be great. Thanks."
She closed her eyes as she listened to him finish up the song he'd called 'Whiskey Lips'. She tried to imagine what it might have been like for him to write that song, what was going through his mind at the time, and what memories drove him to put these words to paper and melody.
She's my weakness and I give in
No matter how hard I try
My sweet addiction 'til someday when I kiss those whiskey lips goodbye
The words might as well have been knives stabbing at her heart. His words hurt, because she hurt for him and for them and what was and what could have been. They hurt because she remembered the night he called her "Whiskey Lips" for the first time.
She was pissed at him. He'd missed another performance. He was passed out in their hotel room after partying all night with Vince. After the show that he missed, she found the nearest, seediest bar to tie one on herself. She was six whiskey shots in and near to numb when he rolled in, looking rumbled and hung over, but still so damn sexy.
"Ray, babe, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you."
"No you don't. If you did you wouldn't do this to me, Deacon. What does it feel like? What does it feel like to get so drunk you can't feel? Huh, Deacon? I want to know!"
"Come on, baby. Let's go back to the hotel and talk. Don't do this. You don't want to do this. You'll regret it in the morning."
"Is that what I am? Something you regret?"
"Don't ever say that. You're the only thing that means anything. I love you Ray. Please let me show you."
"Sex isn't going to fix this Deacon! You need to stop doing this to me. I need to trust you. I need you as a partner. I'm doing this for both of us, babe. We're both going to be on the Opry stage someday. I don't want you to miss that because you're sleeping off a bender." Rayna was getting loud and they were starting to get more attention than either of them wanted.
"Ok, Ray, you're right. Come on now, let's go back to the hotel, please."
She was pissed, but she was still sober enough to know that they needed to get out of there. She felt like one of their infamous, knock-down, drag-out fights was on the verge of erupting. She slid off the stool into his arms. "Fuck you, Deacon."
Her state and the stiletto heels she was wearing didn't help her balance any. Deacon stooped down and removed her shoes. She leaned against him and laid her throbbing head on this shoulders, tears now streaming down her face. He backed her up to his truck and leaned her against it to steady her while he fished for his keys. He got the door open and lifted her into the truck. He ran around the other side and got behind the wheel. He reached over and buckled her in. She had her head against the window, eyes closed and was mumbling incoherently.
The fresh air seemed to have exacerbated her condition and her face was pale. They were on the highway when Rayna yelled, "Pull over!"
"What's wrong, babe. We need to get you to the hotel."
"Dammit Deacon, pull over," she slurred.
He did. And, just as he stopped, Rayna opened the truck door, still buckled in, leaned out the door and started to empty the poison in her stomach. Deacon felt her pain. That usually was him. God help him though, he couldn't help but laugh a little. Rayna was a cute drunk. He went over to her.
"Don't look at me. This is all your fault." She reminded him of his indiscretion and brought him back to reality.
"I know babe. I'm sorry. Let's get you back to the hotel and cleaned up and in bed. You'll feel better in the morning. We both will."
When Deacon got her back to the hotel he helped her get into the shower. She could tell he was thinking of joining her, but she put that thought out his head quickly. "No! Leave me."
A little while later she slid into bed next to him, naked. She knew he was awake, but couldn't face him. She turned away from him and cried herself to sleep.
The next morning, he woke up first. He used the opportunity, as he usually did, to stare at her. Her red hair was strewn all around her. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Her brow was a little furrowed as if she was deep in thought and her lips were slightly parted as her sweet breath blew in and out. He reached over and gently caressed her cheek. She slowly turned toward him. She opened her eyes and looked into his with a thousand unasked questions. "I'm sorry, Ray. Please don't do that again."
"What, do what you do? Drink till I'm numb and my heart can't feel?" She was angry, but she spoke softly, gently, sadly.
"There's not enough alcohol in the world to numb my love for you. I never want that feeling to go away, Ray. It's just that I have these demons that are always chasing me babe. I'm sorry that I let them get between us. I want to be there for you, always."
She looked at him and cracked. She always did. He was in her blood. She couldn't not love him. He reached across her and poured a glass of whiskey. Rayna was about to protest when he dipped his finger in and ran it around her lips. He dipped his finger again and ran it down her throat, between the valley of her breasts. He then dipped several fingers so that the gold liquid dripped on her nipples. He reached down and rubbed it in until her nipples were perfectly erect. He grabbed the glass and slowly poured the liquid over her belly and over her mound. He dipped his fingers again and dotted each of her long, smooth, taut legs down to the toes. By this time Rayna's eyes were closed and she was breathing heavy, anticipating what was coming next. Deacon set down the glass.
"My little Whiskey Lips. You're my addiction." His tongue and lips were on hers licking the whiskey off. They both moaned, hungry for one another. Rayna started to grab at Deacon, desperate to have him. "No, babe. Let me do this, for you."
He gently grabbed her wrists and held them above her head while his mouth followed the path of his fingers. Placing butterfly kisses on her neck, sucking hard at her nipples, lapping up her legs until he found her core, that sweet spot that seemed to hold the sweetest nectar. When his tongue plunged into her, she couldn't stand it anymore. She screamed his name and gripped his head pressing herself into him until she lost all sense of time and place, nearly blacking out from the sheer pleasure of her release.
A tear escaped her eye and she quickly got up. What was she doing? What did she expect coming here, listening to him? She had a husband and a family. What would Teddy say if he found her here? What's more, what would Deacon think? She bolted for the back door and the shelter of her car. She got in and breathed out. She was shaking a little. And, God help her, she was wet thinking about the night he called her 'Whiskey Lips'. Pam was right, he wasn't over her. But, she had to ask herself, was she over him?