She could remember, back in the mists of time, seemingly endless junior high recesses spent huddled with the other girls, listening as all the boys of their acquaintance were rated for suitability according to appearance, personality and prospects. She herself had not been above the occasional doodle in a notebook, wondering which of the Seniors' surnames might suit her best.
In later years, through a protracted and highly dramatised process which always seemed to involve not merely two people but entire circles of friends, she had acted out some approximation of a relationship with one boy or another from high school. Occasionally she found herself the victim of a carefully calibrated seating plan at one of her father's country club bore-fests, and, ever the optimist, she humored the sons of Nashville's doctors and lawyers. She had never been in love, but she had heard enough country songs to know that this was all part of the process; the 'will they, won't they?,' the 'my friend likes your friend,' the awkward set-ups, the confusion, the angst, the let-downs. This was just the obstacle course that one had to run with any given guy, before the falling in love part could begin in earnest.
It was funny, really, because it had been nothing like that with him.
With him, it just felt inevitable.
As things turned out, falling in love with Deacon was hands down the easiest thing Rayna had ever done. It was the falling out of it that had been a complete fucking disaster.
This latest episode of drama had actually been fairly easily tucked away in some private corner of her brain along with all their saga's predecessors, such was the magnitude of the other problems Rayna was dealing with during her short month at home. As the date of their departure for Denver drew nearer though, a niggling discomfort had seemed to become more pronounced with each passing day, deepening to a rising dread in the pit of her stomach.
She knew was part of it was – she always felt miserable before leaving her daughters, and this time it was worse, because they were adamant they wanted to come with her. As for the other part – well, that didn't really require too much soul searching either.
And so it was that, almost despite her better judgement, Rayna James found herself sitting on a porch swing, waiting.
And waiting.
She had just about had enough of waiting, in fact, and wondered if maybe she was wasting her time - perhaps he had gone up to the cabin or something - when a car door slammed at the end of the driveway, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Out jumped the man himself in his normal uniform of jeans and a button down shirt, squinting up at her in the morning sunshine.
"Hey Rayna," he said quietly when he reached the porch. If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. But then, she had always thought that for a man who lay his every emotion out on the line most nights a week on some stage or other, he had a surprisingly good poker face.
She got to her feet, taken aback somewhat by his sudden appearance. "I… I just dropped the girls off at school and I…came to see you," she said superfluously, by way of explanation.
He nodded, settling himself on the swing with ease. "How can I help you?"
Rayna paused a little awkwardly for a second, as though gauging his mood, debating how to start and whether to stay standing, before eventually sitting down carefully beside him.
"I think we need to have a conversation." She forced herself to look at him directly. "And I think we probably should do it away from a million roadies and fans and – I don't know, whoever, just all that hoopla."
"I ain't got much to say to be perfectly honest. But, sure," he replied mildly. "Whatever you want."
"I think we should just start from the beginning," she continued, deciding to ignore what she recognized instantly as his patented passive aggression. She had come on here on a mission, namely to help preserve her sanity over the next month of touring, and Deacon, whether he liked it or not, was going to get on board.
He smiled tersely. "That might take a while, Ray."
"I mean the…more recent beginning. I don't want any drama when we get back on the road, not with you, not with Juliette, not with anybody. I got bigger fish to fry."
"Fine with me," he shrugged, unable to resist adding flippantly, "seems like the one you oughta be having this conversation with is Liam McGuiness."
"Well, given that he's not even on the tour, that would be weird," she answered pointedly. "I'm here to talk to you."
She sighed, looking out ahead of her into the uninspiring stillness of suburbia on a Tuesday morning. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Look I just want to talk to you, ok? Why are you doing this tour Deacon? Seriously."
"God, Rayna!" he exclaimed almost laughingly, casting a hand through his hair. "I told you this. Juliette needed a guitar player and I - " he smirked slightly - "well, I can play guitar."
"O-kay," she replied carefully, with deliberate calm. "So what about me?"
"What about you?"
"Well, are you saying that you decided to come on this tour – this five month, joint tour - and I just had nothing to do with that decision?"
"Pretty much. Shocking, I know," he said, wincing a little internally as he heard his own words aloud, but working to keep his expression blank. That was the thing about this woman in front of him, see - unless he consciously and consistently tried to block it out, it really didn't take very much to remember that he loved her more than anything.
"Okay, you know what, Deacon" Rayna said, turning to face him more directly as her voice rose sarcastically, her reserves of patience having evidently been exhausted. "I'm just gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that one. I think we both know that in the past twenty-five years, for better or worse, most things that you have done have had something to do with me, and most things that I've done have had something to do with you. Let's just face facts, here."
She stopped abruptly and took a breath, momentarily stunned by her own frankness. This was so much closer to the bone than either of them usually cared to venture. But after the month she'd had, Rayna was almost past the point of caring.
"You kissed me," she continued resolutely. "In an elevator."
"Yeah," he said, his voice gentler now.
"Well that was unexpected," she said dumbly, suddenly aware that this portion of the conversation might have befitted a little more forward-planning on her part. "I mean, you were being kind of a jerk to me, Deacon. And… you know. We haven't done that in a while."
"We do this all the time, though, don't we, Ray?" he said, suddenly ready to talk, his voice rising in frustration. "Every once in a while something'll happen. We'll piss each other off, or we'll get a little too close in each other's space, or we just…forget, like at The Bluebird a couple months ago. And then we'll have one of these long conversations – conversations slash fights," he amended grimly, "and at the end of 'em, not a damn thing's different, is it?"
He was looking at her intently now, holding her gaze, and Rayna felt the breath being sucked out of her a bit. She liked to think fame hadn't changed her, not in any real way at least, but she knew that wasn't true. It had made her steelier, more guarded. And lately, she'd kept her armor on at home too; she'd worn it as a wife, as a daughter. She wasn't quite sure how Deacon could still manage to make her feel so completely naked.
The silence rested between, thick and heavy, and Rayna forgot why she had come here. What had she wanted, exactly? For them to agree to cut all ties, to just give it up and ignore one another completely? For them to fall into bed together? Or what? To exchange apologies, make some vague, cautious declarations of affection, ease their way back to the safe middle ground they'd lived in for so long? She honestly didn't know any more.
"Look, Ray, you don't have to worry." Deacon said eventually. "I meant what I said in Atlanta. What happened, it was… weak. It won't happen again. I just..." he seemed to be searching for an explanation, frustrated when he couldn't find the words, or at least none that he was allowed to say, none that wouldn't make this whole thing worse.
"I don't know, whatever, you're married," he finally mumbled gruffly, reverting to their script, seemingly talking to himself as much as to her.
Rayna swallowed. "Teddy and I are getting a divorce."
Deacon looked up at her sharply, his expression freezing. "What?"
She just looked at him, saying nothing.
"When did this happen?"
"'bout a month ago."
"Jesus," he replied seriously, exhaling slowly. "Jesus. Why didn't you tell me, Ray?"
She shrugged, eyes downcast. "This is me telling you."
"Is it... I mean, is it for sure, or are you guys just, like, separating?"
"We've been just separated," Rayna admitted. "Now we're getting a divorce."
He nodded, evidently trying to process this information. "What about the girls? I guess you gotta tell 'em, huh?"
"Already have," she said, oddly touched by the unexpected question, by the fact that he'd thought of them first. "It was…" she shook her head, blinking back sudden tears furiously. "God. It wasn't good, Deacon."
"You want to go inside? Let's go inside," he suggested suddenly, rising decisively. "Let's just, I don't know, have a cup of coffee or...something."
For once, Rayna didn't over-think it. She didn't question what this would mean for her marriage, she didn't worry how any one of a dozen others would perceive her and Deacon alone together, she didn't even try to analyze the conversation they'd just had. She just nodded, and found herself getting to her feet, found herself being guided through the front door, his hand feather-light on the small of her back.
She felt it in every cell of her body.
It was just a little thing, just another little thing that he had never really given up, and that she had never really wanted him to. Maybe they both were weak.
Am working on a second part of this, but i suppose whether I post it will depend on whether there's any enthusiasm for this first part! Hope you enjoyed, let me know if so - constructive criticism also very welcome!