This idea started out as kind of a joke and took on a life of it's own….when you picture Vince's son, just think "well, he looks just like Tim Riggins"….:) Let me know what you think of this idea and if I should keep going….

"Yeah, Babe just give me about two hours," Rayna said, holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder while she signed for the delivery man and took the box in his hands. "There's a guy playing at The Stagecoach that Bucky thinks I should see, I'm going to stop in there and then I'll be home. It's been a crazy day."

Deacon said something on the other end of the phone that rightfully should have made her blush.

"Deacon, really? You have no shame."

Bucky, standing in front of her desk, gave her a look with eyebrows raised.

"I miss ya, that's all." Deacon said on the other end of the line. "Been a lonely week being gone."

"Well, I'll try to hurry," she said with a small secretive smile. "Yep. Love you too."

"So that must be going good, huh?" Bucky asked as Rayna hit the lights and they walked out of her office. "You and Deacon?"

"Yes," Rayna said, satisfied, as she locked the door. "Happiest I've ever been." She always stopped, just for a second at the end of the day lately to stand in the doorway and look around. It reminded her to be grateful. This was all hers. She'd made it, she'd earned it. On her own, not riding off anyone else's fame or fortune.

It was a damn good feeling.

At the Stagecoach, she slipped in the back with Bucky, trying to look inconspicuous. A lot of the hoopla had died down over the breakup with Luke and her relationship with Deacon, and people seemed a lot more respectful now, but she still didn't want to draw attention.

Standing in the back, she waved to a few people she knew, chatted it up a little, and then set her eyes to the guy onstage who was setting up with his band.

"I'm impressed already," she said to Bucky. "What did y'all say his name is again?"

"Rhett Harper. Lots of people in town talking about this one. I wanted you to see it yourself." Rayna had the oddest feeling, watching the stage. It was like watching the shadow of someone from long ago. Something about the way he held that guitar, the way he moved. As soon as Rhett Harper opened his mouth, she reeled a little at the northern Mississippi twang. It was definitely not the "bro-country" she'd been expecting, but more like a mixture of gritty country rock with a little blues edging it out.

"What's up?" Bucky asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think I just did," she murmured.

If she didn't know any better she could have sworn Vince Montgomery had just been reincarnated.

It took her about five minutes before the shock wore off, and she could concentrate on the music again.

He was good. Definitely a little rough around the edges. Showed promise. In need of a little refinement. And a damn good haircut.

Am I imagining this? She wondered silently. It was entirely possible Vince could have a son. The guy definitely had had his way with women. But he'd been gone….almost 20 years now, she realized. God, 20 years. And yet sometimes it seemed like it had all happened just yesterday.

They didn't talk about Vince. Ever. It had taken Deacon years to even be able to mention his name in a random conversation. It still hurt him, talking about the accident, the friend he'd lost.

She wondered if she should even tell him. Things were so good now, but the tiny silent fear was always there, that something would upset the applecart.

After the show she waited with Bucky until the swarms of college-age girls were done buzzing around Rhett, and then made her way through the crowd.

"Hey there, Rhett. I'm Rayna Jaymes. Highway 65 records?"

The first thing she noticed was that the kid had green eyes. Holy hell.

The recognition in Rhett's eyes was evident, and the surprise, but something else too. Hesitation, maybe. He stuck out his hand slowly. "Well, thanks for coming to see my show, Ms. Jaymes. Hope you enjoyed it."

"Hell yeah, it was great! You currently recording with anyone?"

"Nah," he said with a half smile. "I got a day job, so this is just weekend fun for me. Make a little music, get a little buzz going."

Speaking of buzz, someone walked by and handed him a beer.

Rayna held out a card. "You come and see me in my office, and we'll talk. You might have a pretty decent future with Highway 65."

He looked hesitant. "Thanks for the offer, really, but honestly? I don't have much of a desire to become famous. Thanks for coming to the show, though." He slipped past her to another crowd of waiting admirers.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky asked, bewildered. "Did he just turn you down?"

She stared after the kid. "You know what, Buck? I think he did. Did you get that last song of his recorded?"

"Yeah. I'll send it to you now. You want Deacon to hear it?"

She hesitated. "Yeah, I think I do."

###########################################

Deacon was waiting when Rayna walked in the door at his house a little while later, lounging on the couch with his guitar and the volume off on the tv. "Hey Darlin," he said, setting down the guitar. He reached out a hand and pulled her down onto his lap. "How was your day?"

He'd been out of town for a few days playing a couple gigs and meeting up with an old friend in Atlanta to do some writing.

"It's better now that you're back. Miss you when you're gone," she said with a contented sigh as she settled into his arms and kissed him hello. "Especially when Teddy has the girls. It's too quiet."

"I know what you mean," Deacon said, his mouth curving up into a smirk. "I never realize how much racket the three of you make until I have nothing to listen to except my own breathing for hours."

"Hey now," she laughed. "You love it, you know you do."

"Wouldn't trade it for anything," he agreed.

She loved his smile, always.

"Something's bothering you, though," he said. "What's up? Talk to me."

Rayna sighed. "Well, I told you…I stopped to see this guy play at the Stagecoach? He's good, really good."

"Thinking of signing him?"

"I mentioned it. He pretty much turned me down. It was…strange."

"What? Who in god's name would do that!?"

She hesitated. "I think you'll understand. I want you to hear him first and tell me what you think. Your first honest reaction of what you hear." She reached for her purse and her phone, scrolling to the clip Bucky had sent her, and she pressed play.

As the first guitar riffs started, and then the words….

Deacon looked a little pale. Their eyes met. "Holy hell." They didn't even have to say anything else. Just the fact that he was thinking the exact same thing she had, meant a hell of a lot. He got off the couch and paced back and forth across the living room a few times.

"Did you talk to him?" Deacon could hardly get the words out. He raked a hand through his hair.

"I did."

"Does he…you know…remind you of…Vince?"

"He does. Doesn't look like him but he sure does act like him. Something about the way he walks and talks… And he can sing. And I think…the eyes. It's in his eyes."

"You think he knows?"

"He looked at me like he did. Or he knows something. I think that's why he said no. "

Deacon looked more than a little shook up as he sank back onto the sofa.

"You okay?" She asked softly, slipping her arms around his neck. "I didn't even know if I should tell you. I mean, if you don't want me to meet with him….I totally understand, Deacon."

"Yeah, I'm okay." But he was so quiet. "You go on to bed, huh? I think I'm gonna sit up for awhile, and I know you have to be up early."

"Are you sure?" Rayna said, troubled. "I don't want you to be alone."

"I'm fine," he said quietly. "Please."

So she reluctantly left him in the living room and went to bed, knowing full well she wouldn't get any sleep anyway until he laid down next to her.

Deacon watched her go, and then with a heavy sigh he stood up and got the box from the top shelf in the hall closet. It had been years since he'd touched any of this, probably since right after Vince died. It was full of old pictures and ancient recordings. None of the tapes were labeled, but he knew some of it was real good stuff with different bands. Some of it was just them jamming and screwing around. He knew he was literally opening a pandora's box of memories that had long been forced away, but hearing that voice on Rayna's phone had been a shocker. It was a stunner, he thought, that Vince could really have the legacy of a son he'd never known about. Then again, it could all be a complete coincidence, it could just be some kid with a similar style, but Rayna had seemed damn sure.

He went to the stereo and slipped a random tape into the player, and turned the volume halfway down so it wouldn't wake Rayna.

Even hearing their voices on the recordings….Damn, they sounded ridiculously young…. Vince was forever 26. Best friend he'd ever had, closest thing he'd ever had to calling a brother. His childhood wasn't much better than Deacon's, but in a different way. There were a hell of a lot of kids in that family and they were dirt-ass poor. His dad never could seem to find a job that wasn't temporary. Vince was the oldest. And the most restless. He wanted to get out of that small town just as much as Deacon did.

It brought all the memories to the surface again, all the ones he'd pushed away for so long. The good ones, and the really ugly ones. The black, dark ones he never wanted to think about but were always there. Somehow Vince was always mixed up in both.

Deacon laid back on the sofa and closed his eyes….

"C'mon Babe, can't you just stay home tonight?" Rayna asked, watching, troubled as he poured himself another drink from the bottle on the counter. "Besides, you've had a lot to drink already. You shouldn't drive. And we've hardly been home in six months. Can't we spend some time alone?"

Deacon took a long swig of the glass in his hand.

She didn't like it when he drank whiskey. Beer was one thing, but whiskey made him a different person, a much ornerier one.

"He's my best friend. Can't go out and have a little fun, once? It's not like him and I don't both bust our asses in your band!"

"Listen," she said quietly. "I know Vince is your best friend, and he is a great musician but…."

"But what? What the hell are you saying, Rayna?"

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Deacon had been to rehab twice in the last year, and every time she thought maybe it had done him some good, they ended up right back to where they'd started. She loved him, so much it hurt. She felt like she was losing a little more of him all the time.

"He needs to stop partying so much. Or I'm going to fire him."

Deacon got really pissed then, and she watched him sweep his arm across the counter, knocking a stack of papers everywhere.

"Hey, come on, now," she said, leaning down to pick the stuff up. "Why don't you just go in the bedroom and sleep it off, okay?"

No such luck. Deacon grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took a huge swig. "What if I party too much? Are you going to fire me?"

She looked pissed. "You know what? I just might."

"Well do it then! Why don't you get off your high heels and realize you ain't perfect either!"

She was mad, and Rayna was stubborn as hell but for a second in his drunken haze, he saw what she hid. She was hurt. He hated himself more than ever in that moment, but not enough to stop. He didn't know how to stop.

"Vince is dragging you down with him, Deacon. You wanna let him, go right ahead! But I'm not letting you two idiots take me with you!"

"Fine!" He yelled. One of their kitchen chair went flying halfway across the room when he knocked it out of the way, splintering when it hit the corner. Everything on the kitchen table hit the floor. He stalked out of the house, slamming the door so hard the walls shook, only pausing to grab the guitar case by the door. In his other hand he still had the bottle of whiskey…..

Three days later, he woke up from that bender in a sleazy motel.

"Oh hell," he squinted at the blinding sunlight coming in through the windows, and glanced over. His head felt like it was repeatedly being jackhammered, and he raised it slightly to see Vince was passed out on the other bed, two girls on either side of him.

Wincing, he surveyed the rest of the room. The needles on the nightstand. The empty bottles and cans. The vomit on the carpet.

He reached over the naked girls and tried to slap Vince awake but the guy hardly moved.

Pulling on his boots, Deacon walked outside. He found a maid shuffling along with her cart going from door to door.

"Scuze me maam, but what town are we in?"

"South Bend?"

"Tennessee?"

"No. Oklahoma."

"Jesus," he thought. "Rayna's going to kill me."

He left Vince there. In Oklahoma. And drove like a bat out of hell.

Deacon knew it as soon as he walked into the house, before he looked in the drawers and closets and saw that they were empty. He felt it.

Rayna was gone.

In the bedroom, there was note on the pillow in her familiar scrawl.

I'm so sorry. I love you but I can't watch you kill yourself anymore.

The mess was exactly the way he'd left it.

He knew her. She'd done that on purpose, so he'd know. The blackouts were worse than ever lately. It was terrifying to wake up and realize hours and days of his life were missing. It was scary, and out of control, and he had no idea how to stop it.

Deacon stood there looking at the smashed dishes, the china plates with the flower pattern. She'd picked them out at a thrift store when they had their first apartment and not much money. When they moved, she wanted to keep them. She loved those damn plates.

The broken chair. The half empty liquor bottle.

With sigh, he went to the sink and with a shaky hand poured it out. Then he went around the hosue and retrieved all the bottles from their hiding places and poured them out too. He cleaned up the glass. Then he called Coleman.

"I need help," he said, his voice cracking.

By the end of the day he was back in rehab for the 3rd time.

Deacon swiped at his eyes now, thinking about all those years of hell he'd put her through. And somehow they'd made it to the here and now anyway.

With a heavy heart, he flipped the stereo off, put the box back into the closet, and went to bed.

"Hey," Rayna murmured as he crawled into bed next to her and slipped an arm across her hip. "You okay?" She rolled over to face him, reaching out to touch his face in the dark room.

He couldn't help but think about the hand fate had dealt. It could have been him in that car just as well as Vince.

"I'm okay," he said quietly. "I got you, don't I? And a family, and everything I need."

Everything Vince never got the chance to have.

"You know you do. Just let me know if you wanna talk about it, okay? Don't hold it all in."

"I wanna meet him. Might put a few things to rest, you know?"

"If you think so," Rayna said slowly. "I'll have Bucky call him tomorrow."

"I do."

The next day Rayna had Bucky track down Rhett Harper, and she left him a message. But a few days went by, and a few more messages, and she heard nothing. She couldn't even find him with any more scheduled gigs around town. It was like he had completely disappeared.