The funny thing is, she really never does this anymore. Once upon a time, sure; checking out the music scene in each new place, finding some little hideaway to creep into once their own show was over...that was all part of the fun. A whiskey or five mightn't have been entirely unheard of.
These days, the truth is that Rayna's off stage by 10:30 and, more often than not, safely tucked up in bed by midnight.
For whatever reason, though, that isn't a truth she feels especially inclined to share with Country Weekly, and so here she is; four band members, five roadies and one journalist in tow, paying for another round of drinks and acting for all the world like this is exactly how she spends the average Thursday night.
"So seems like you're a pretty hard ass boss, huh?" Reporter Kevin jokes, having to shout a little over the sound of the three-piece rockabilly band on stage. And, while he might be unobtrusive enough company, while he might make these sort-of-almost-amusing comments and seem broadly inclined to write a nice soft piece on her, to Rayna this man is Reporter Kevin. He will never, ever just be Kevin.
"Oh yeah," she plays along, "I'm a real slave driver." She starts to distribute beers from a precariously balanced tray as the guys gather round, reaching in to grab their own drinks, laughing and talking over each other animatedly. Everyone, at this point, is starting to get a little bit sloppy. "As you can see, these guys respect me deeply."
Journalist Kevin laughs, because it doesn't take much, and Rayna turns, weaving her way back to the bar to return the tray.
Honestly, she's tired, and more sober than she's letting on, and not even fully sure where they are beyond the basic knowledge that it's somewhere in downtown Austin. Still, though, she finds that it is kind of nice to be out. This latest stop on their bar crawl is warm and buzzing, with that maple honey glow common to bars the world over. There's a rotation of local acts taking their turn on a small stage, and the audience is appreciative and unpretentious; a little rowdy, but in the best way.
Austin people, Rayna thinks, are cool. And they know good music. There isn't a whole lot else she really needs in a city.
She's working her way back to her group, squeezing past people and absently watching the changeover kerfuffle on stage when she sees him.
And of course, she sees him all the time, in faces in the audience, in silhouettes on the street. So, that first thump in her chest isn't really anything very new at this point. The sudden, sharp in her stomach a half a second later, though - that's kind of a kicker.
Because it hasn't been Deacon Claybourne for more than three years. But it's him now.