Live at the Broken Spoke, 1990, Nashville
This story was inspired by that little Marcus to Deacon line in 4.9….
Rayna
Rayna watches from next to the small stage as Deacon and the band set up. He takes the stairs two at a time, looking for some piece of equipment or another that's gone missing, muttering curse words to himself all the while.
"Just breathe, Deacon," she says with a tilt of her head and a swing of her hair, catching his arm as he stalks by. "Everything is going to go fine." She knows he's anxious as hell trying to make sure everything goes according to plan for the EP they're recording tonight. Well…he's recording it, anyway. She's just singing one song on it with him. It's not much tonight, but she's excited to see her name next to his on the back of that case as a co-write for "Angels and Alcohol." It's his third EP, and his first live one. She knows he's frustrated more than usual lately, seems like everyone else in this town is getting a break but either of them. Watty keeps telling em' both to be patient. That's a lot easier for her to do than Deacon. Patience is not in Deacon Claybourne's vocabulary.
It's hard to believe it's been exactly two years tonight. 720 days since her father threw her and her pretty white boots and her dreams of a career in country music right out his front door. 720 days since Deacon walked into the Bluebird and walked into her life and pretty much parked himself right in the middle of it like a lighthouse in a hurricane. Sure, some days she has trouble deciding whether he's the lighthouse or the hurricane, but she can't imagine singing with anyone else now, or having anyone else play guitar for her. She can't imagine being on that stage with anyone but Deacon.
Secretly she thinks he's about the best looking guy she's ever known, even when he's wearing nothing but one of those same old flannel shirts he always wears and jeans that looked like they've seen two world wars. She tried to pick out some new clothes for him once, just new jeans and a couple collared shirts, and he got pissed as all get-out. Don't try to change me, Ray. I ain't one of your father's country club sons. And it ain't your job.
I'm not, she argued. But then again, she thinks now, maybe she was. A little.
After all, she's been half in-love with him since the first moment she laid eyes on him from her spot on the stage at the Bluebird.
Maybe a little more than half.
Deacon is like a novel with so many chapters, she wonders if she will never be able to read them all. She feels like she hasn't even gotten through the prologue yet. And unfortunately for her, he has made it perfectly clear more than once that he ain't laying a finger on Lamar Wyatt's daughter, no matter how pretty he thinks she is.
"I don't think I like the way this song is headed," Deacon said, stopping mid verse.
"Why?" She looked down at the lyrics they'd just worked out, brushing the hair out of her eyes. It had been too hot to write in his tiny apartment with no air conditioning, and Deacon's idea to jump in the truck and drive. And here they were now. Sitting next to the river on a blanket on the grass. It was still hot, and the water looked way too tempting. "The smile on your face lets me know that you need me. There's a truth in your eyes sayin you'll never leave me" she read out loud. "This is good, Deacon. Like maybe one of our best-."
"Because it's a love song," he cut her off.
She frowned. "So what. We've sang a million songs in the last two years that could qualify as love songs. You wrote half of them."
"I did. We didn't. This is…different."
Her eyes met his, and feeling reckless she said with a touch of sass. "There's a first time for everything."
She wondered what he'd do if she just got up and peeled off her clothes and took a dive in that cool water right now.
He raised one eyebrow at what she was blatantly prepositioning, and gave her a Look. "You got Wyatt blood in your veins. And I don't care how pretty you are, or how mad you are at your daddy, he's still likely to hire a hitman on my ass if he found out you and me ever got together that way."
Rayna rolled her eyes and hid a smile as she looked down at the notepad in her hand. But all the potential words to the song they were trying to write were lost in that one statement.
"What?" Deacon looked at her from his spot next to her on the blanket, guitar on his lap, a little defensive, and if she didn't mistake it, a little flushed in the face.
"You said I was pretty, that's all," she said softly.
"I'm sure you got guys telling you that every day."
"Sure," she said quietly. "But it never meant anything before."
He seemed at a loss with that one. Slowly he reached out and took the notepad from her, his hand brushing hers just for a brief second, long enough to send the butterflies swirling in her stomach once more.
A few minutes later, he handed it back, and she read the words to herself.
The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall.
You say it best when you say nothing at all.
Last week, that had been. They haven't even finished that new song yet, and she knows as well as he does where it will go once they finally get around to it. They've been dancing around each other for two years now, and she for one, is getting tired of waiting for him to quit being so damn noble and make a good and proper move on her once and for all.
Standing next to her now, Deacon gestures the bartender for a shot of whiskey, and downs it quickly. It calms him instantly.
It makes her nervous, the way that works. Just a shot or two, and the coal black fire in his eyes simmers right back down to cool blue. The power of whiskey. He's four years older than her mere 18 years, but sometimes it seems like a decade more. He's seen things, and done things, and she doesn't dare ask where that darkness comes from that seems to linger in his eyes, that shadow of pain. She doesn't ask. She just waits for it to come out in the darker songs he writes, and it always does. It makes her hurt for him.
"There's a lot of important people here tonight, Ray," he says, his blue eyes meeting hers. "This could mean big things. For both of us."
Ray. When he calls her that, it rolls off his tongue so easily now, causing the butterflies to leave a warm fuzzy trail from her stomach all the way up to her heart. She tries to remember sometimes when he first started calling her that, and she can't even remember when or where it started, but it's been that way for two years. No one else calls her Ray, but coming from him it sounds just right.
"You're gonna do fine," she repeats, taking a chance, reaching for his hand, tangling their fingers together. To her relief, he doesn't pull away, but squeezes her hand in his for a minute, and she's taken back to the words of that new song again. You say it best when you say nothing at all.
And then his face lights up as he spots someone behind her and the moment is lost. But she's happy, because she recognizes that face from the few faded pictures he's showed her. His mama has come to hear them play. She doesn't know much about where he came from. Somewhere in Mississippi, he will tell her with a scowl. But she knows he loves his mama. And she knows that he keeps sending most of the money they earn from these crappy half-empty bar shows and fair shows and whatever else comes along, he's sending that home to her and his crazy sister and that new little baby of hers. She's only met the sister once, but once was enough.
Deacon takes care of his own.
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Deacon
Out of the corner of his eye,he watches Ray hug his mother as though they've known each other their whole lives instead of mere minutes, and it brings a smile to his face as he heads towards the stage. He picks up his guitar, and gives the band a few last minute instructions.
It can't be any bigger of a surprise, seeing Caroline walk in tonight. She must have driven for hours. She's working herself into an early grave since his daddy finally walked out after all those years and didn't come back, trying to pay for the house she stubbornly refuses to give up, and helping his sister Beverly take care of the new baby. Beverly just hasn't been right in a long time. He didn't see how she'd thought going off getting married was going to help it, and sure as hell had lasted about five minutes after the wedding before that jerk she married took off. His baby niece was cute, though. Such a quiet little thing.
His eyes never stray far from Rayna, who is completely oblivious to the attention she draws from people around her, especially of the male variety.
Somehow almost every song he's written lately is about her.
She's naïve, Rayna is. Thinks she's got this all figured out, that if they listen to Watty and just keep plugging along, somehow some way a break is going to drop in their laps. She grew up a Wyatt, having everything handed to her. It ain't hard to figure that out. This is different, trying to make it on the musician side of Nashville and not the trust fund side. Nobody's handing you anything except 9 times out of 10 your demo tape back, and if you're lucky, a coffee can half full of the night's tip money. Watty knows though. Watty discovered half this town, and he knows talent when he sees it. So for Rayna's sake, he tries to hold onto his patience.
Not that he has it all figured out yet either. He's been doing this for three years now, since he left Mississippi, and just last year finally got a bit of a break with Belcourt Records giving him a chance. A couple EPs later, and he finally has them talked into letting him put out something live. Nobody else has anything live coming out right now. It's different, and risky. And if it does halfway decent, it'll get him a full recording contract once and for all. He can't say things are going too bad lately, getting his own songs heard, and staying busy between his own shows and playing for Rayna the rest of the time. Writing with Rayna, that's a whole 'nother issue.
Watty has told him people down on music row are talking. She's got the voice, and she's got the look. She sings like a red-haired angel dropped down from heaven and takes the stage like she's been doing it her whole life. Pretty soon everyone in this town is gonna want a piece of Rayna Jaymes.
Maybe that's what he's afraid of.
Pushing the thoughts out of his mind, he signals to the tech guys, and hits the chords for the first song, and they're recording live while the guys in suits watch from the front row.
############################################
Caroline Claybourne
She swears she must have the proudest look on her face that a mama could possibly ever have. That's her boy on that stage. He made it. Out of that house, out of Mississippi. He calls often, to update her on what's going on in Nashville.
"I'm so proud of you, son," she's said to him so many times over those long distance phone calls on Sunday nights.
"Aw ma, don't say that. I haven't even gotten past free bar shows and county fairs yet. Let me give you something to make you proud first."
But she is. She's proud, and it's enough to bring tears to her eyes.
The redhead standing next to her slips an arm around her waist, as if sensing she needs it. "He really is doing fine," she says softly. "Don't worry. We watch out for each other around here."
Rayna. She'd said her name was Rayna. Such a sweet girl. Deacon needs someone to take care of him, though he is too stubborn and proud to admit it. She worries, though tonight gives her heart a chance to rest a little. He might look like his father, but Deacon has the two things Sam Claybourne could never seem to find: a heart and a conscience.
They stand in the back where it's less crowded and listen to her son play. He's got them, the crowd. They're on their feet dancing as he breaks into an upbeat song about a girl that got away.
"I'm on next," Rayna says with an apologetic smile, gesturing towards the stage. "Enjoy the rest of the show. It was nice to meet you Caroline, if we don't see each other later."
Caroline watches as Rayna climbs the stage and takes the microphone next to Deacon's.
"We're gonna slow it down a little bit," he says with an easy smile.
The crowd, he's already got em. And once they heard the first words of the sweet, beautiful song come out of Rayna's mouth, they are lost. Caroline can see the captivation in their eyes, on their faces. This is a night every person in this crowd with carry with them forever.
For a second she forgets that's her son up there. All she can see are two young people looking into each other's eyes as if they've forgotten the rest of the world exists. She'd thought she had that once, maybe for a little while, before life and all the things that go with it got in the way and turned it sour. But this…this is different. This is magic in its purest element. She wants to tell them to hold onto it with both hands, to hold each other, and never let go.
The world says they'll never make it.
Love says they will.
###########################################
Rayna
She is shocked as hell when she sits down on the stool next to Deacon and out of hearing range of the mic, he says "We're gonna scrap "Angels and Alcohol" and do the new one we wrote last week."
"What?" she says, confused. "But we didn't even finish it."
"I did."
And he's already informed the band, apparently, and leans in to speak in her ear, so close she gets those familiar butterflies.
"Don't think about it so hard," he murmurs. "Just feel it. And sing with me."
She can't not think about it, that he wants the love song they wrote on the E.P.
But something happens when he starts to play, and something happens when she starts to sing, and everything else fades away around her, everything except the blue eyes staring into hers.
She feels it, with every fiber of her being, like warm fire flowing through her veins.
And she thinks this must be what it feels like to be loved.
#######################################
Watty
Watty slips in the back just in time to see Rayna take the stage. He watches them and not for the first time doesn't know whether to marvel or be worried. Virginia's little girl. So much like her mother it hurt his eyes and his heart sometimes. She has Lamar's ambition for sure. She is a stubborn one, determined to make it one way or another. She's got a long way to go, but she's learning.
And Deacon Claybourne. He's so damn good and so unrefined. Half the time he plays that guitar like he's trying to escape from something. What, Watty has no idea. You can see it in his eyes sometimes, the kid is barely 22 years old and he's seen too much. He's like a train barreling down the tracks at 100 mph per hour. You know it's going to end in a crash if you can't slow it down.
Slow down, Deacon, he wants to tell him. Just slow down.
He fears sometimes the way Rayna looks at him she will gladly follow him right down that track, no matter what it costs her.
But this…watching the beauty erupting before his eyes onstage, he realizes it's too late. Two people that in love with each other and that talented are a force even he can't hold back.
Even if they don't know it yet.
##########################################
Deacon
Rayna disappears after they sing that damn song, and he can't even go find her, they have three more songs and can't take a break in the middle of recording. He watches the crowd for her face to reappear, for a glimpse of her telltale red hair, but no such luck.
He silently curses himself when the show is over as he fields questions from reporters and record execs, trying to retain his excitement that they are talking record deals and tour dates. He'll think about that later. Right now all he wants to do is find her, but it is more than another hour before the show is over and he says goodbye to his mother, friends, Watty. By that time it is clear Rayna has cut out early, and he drives home in his crappy old truck to the tiny apartment feeling disappointed somehow.
Pissed off at himself for letting such a good night end like this, he drops his guitar case on the wood floor with a thud and leans his head against the closed door.
"You should be a little nicer to that guitar. Might need it tomorrow," comes the soft drawl from behind him.
Slowly he turns, and she's there in the dim lamplight glow of his apartment waiting for him. Sitting on the sofa with a notepad in her hand and her hair up in a knot looking impossibly young and sweet and maybe even a little pissed off.
"Took you long enough to get here," she says, annoyed.
"What are you doing here?" he says quietly.
Everything he's been missing in every corner of his life is wrapped up in Rayna. He's known this for about two years now, when all his songs stopped being about girls he hadn't met yet, and turned into songs about her. She looks like she belongs there. She does belong there. He'd just been too damn stubborn for too long to admit it.
The words to their song come back to him, that overwhelming feeling that had hit him as they sang tonight, the feeling that everything was about to change.
Try as I may, I could never explain
What I hear when you don't say a thing
"Figured you had to come home eventually," she says, taking a deep breath. "See, this record exec gave me a card after the show. He said they're booking opening acts right now for George Strait and Garth Brooks. He offered me a solo spot."
From the look on his face, he is clearly stunned. "Well, you told him yes, right? Did you talk to Watty? What does he think? God, Ray, that's great."
He would, Rayna thinks. He would be happy for me, and completely ignore the fact that tonight was his night. Watty set this up for him, getting all these record execs a chance to come here and listen to them record the EP. This was supposed to be his chance to shine.
She bites her lip, and shakes her head slowly. "I didn't tell him anything yet."
With slow steps Deacon crosses the room and sinks onto the tattered sofa next to her. "Why would you do that?" But he's pretty sure he already knows the answer.
"Because," she whispers. "I don't want to do it without you. I think maybe we have an awful lot of songs about us left to write, Deacon."
He reaches his hand over and touches her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. And just the way she looks up at him with complete love and want in her eyes, he knows he is a goner. He loses what part of his heart she didn't already have in that moment, and knows without a doubt he will never, ever get it back.
It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart.
Without saying a word, you can light up the dark…
"Ray, I got nothing to offer you right now, you know? Nothing. This crappy apartment… hell, I can barely afford to take you out to dinner. You should do that tour. This is your chance."
The shame in his eyes hurts, and she wants nothing more than to reassure him, to take it away, to make him see she doesn't care about any of that and he doesn't have to prove anything.
Instead of words, Rayna just leans forward and pressed her mouth against his in a kiss that deepens until it seems to go on for an eternity, so achingly sweet and tender that it will linger in both of their minds for days, months, years to come, a moment they both stopped merely existing and started living.
Later, after he's carried her off to the narrow bed in the other room and loved every inch of her in delicious ways she never thought possible, when she's wrapped safely in his arms, she forgets where she ends and he begins, and it doesn't really matter anyway. They are two halves of one soul, love in its purest form, at the beginning of the greatest song they will ever write.
"What are we doing?" He murmurs, burying his face in her hair. "Ray, what the hell are we doing? We got every odd in the world stacked against us, me and you."
She turns in his arms so she is gazing up at him, and no words are necessary. The smile on her face says enough, the truth in her eyes, a silent song.
Sometimes love is indeed said best with no words at all.
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Song mentions: Angels and Alcohol is a really cool new song by Alan Jackson, and When You
Say Nothing At All-Keith Whitley
.