Hello! This is a two part, angst-ridden speculation piece based on some photos that were tweeted from set last week and a couple of other spoilers that are floating around for an upcoming episode. The first part is very dialogue heavy (so get those accents going in your heads!) and centers mostly around Deacon and what he needs to get off his chest. The second chapter will be Rayna's reaction to him and how everything ends up pieced back together, if it does at all. ;) It's pure speculation, but it's also everything I want to see happen. These two have to fall apart on each other at some point, right?! ;)
Anyway, beware if you don't like spoilers. There is more language in this than I typically use in stories. Enjoy!
Rayna shivered as she stepped out of the Escalade, wrapping her black sweater tighter around herself.
It was a fairly warm afternoon in early March, but she was sure the frigid chills running rampant through her body were not the product of a brisk air so much as she was just reacting to being back at that place.
She had not stepped foot on the property in fourteen years; since the day she approached the door with a determined intention to tell Deacon she was likely pregnant with his child. She was so sure of what she was going to say as she walked onto the porch, but Tandy spoke like a devil on her shoulder; she made her doubt.
So she'd left.
She'd gotten back into Tandy's Mercedes and they drove back to Nashville in silence.
Now, here she was again; so intent on what needs to be said; so sure of her delivery that she was using the false confidence to ward off the various involuntary physical reactions she was having to simply smelling the lake water.
She gingerly stepped onto the wooden porch, taking note of the table and chairs that adorned it now. She also saw that he'd replaced the simple light fixture with a strange, albeit artsy sort of metal covering.
The porch could use a coat of paint, and while the house had certainly aged along with the two of them, she couldn't help but grin at the obvious evidence that he still took pride in this home he had purchased for her; that he still cherished it.
Her heart swelled at the idea that he'd even kept it after all the demons that were unleashed inside the four walls. If it were her, she would have unloaded it first chance she got.
That'd always been the difference between them—she would compartmentalize and do what she had to do to remove herself from a situation, while he held on for dear life. She would lock doors and throw away the keys and he would grasp blindly for slippery ropes, praying for nirvana.
Her breath caught in her throat as she placed her hands on either side of her eyes and peered through the window. There were a few noticeable improvements, but by and large the interior was just as she'd remembered it.
The couch was still in the same spot as the night they'd made love for hours; it was exactly where it was when she found him passed out on it the next morning. The table was also still there, like it had never been touched. The most glaring difference to her was there were no bottles scattered around; no records shattered on the floor.
She knew he was there. His truck was parked in the usual spot and there was evidence of someone inhabiting the house in the way of stray coffee mugs, an unfolded newspaper and a set of keys on the bar, but the lights were out; the domicile was empty.
An all too familiar pang of fear jolted her stomach. She tried to gulp it down with the idea that everything was different now; that he had the best reason in the world to stay on the straight and narrow; that his daughter and not the bottle was guiding his sails.
Still, the fear festered. She quickly jumped off the porch and walked around to the side of the house. Her cheeks grew flush with worry as she found no sign of him on the side or the back.
"DEACON!"
She screamed his name as involuntarily as she had shivered before.
She repeated it once, twice, then three times, walking quickly back to the front so she could beat on the door. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of him walking up the hill, a half-finished wooden chair in his hand.
She looked down, immediately feeling silly at her instinctual reaction.
"Hey," she muttered shyly.
"Hey, Ray," His eyes were empty, his face careworn. "What are you doing here?'
She moved her shoulders back and raised her head, bringing her eyes firmly to his.
"We need to talk."
He nodded blankly, using his free arm to wipe an itch on his forehead.
"Yeah. I guess we do."
She leaned on the bar, delicately watching his every move as he prepared his coffee. She studied every crease on his face, every flex of his arm muscles, every curl of his fingers; she listened sharply to every breath he took. She looked for any possible sign that he was about to fall back into his dark abyss.
She glanced up at her as he walked around the bar, coming to stand across from her. After twenty years of struggle, he could always feel her gaze burning into him and he always knew what she was thinking: "When's he going to fuck up?"
"You don't have to do that," he said, placing his coffee on the bar. "Just ask me."
"Do what? Ask you what?" She looked down, trying in vain to play the best kind of stupid.
"If I drank. If I'm gonna drink."
"Deacon, I'm not—"
"Save it, Rayna. That's exactly why you're here."
She sighed, pulling a stool out and sitting down casually as if she hadn't been absent from the house for over a decade.
"That's not why I'm here, Deacon. I just came to talk, but I am scared. This is a lot for you to deal with."
He shrugged.
"It's nothing I can't handle."
"Can you handle it without a bottle?"
Her tone was cold; accusatory. It shocked him, but didn't at the same time. Every time he thought a wall had come down between them, she made damn sure to put one back up. He just wondered how she'd drive all the way to him out of apparent concern and then be so dismissive.
He smirked angrily.
"It's good to have you back here, Ray."
She rolled her eyes and stood up.
"Deacon, I don't want to fight. Coleman called me. He said you'd reached out to him and told him you were hiding out up here for a while. I just don't know if being up here all by yourself with everything that's gone on is the best—"
"What's gone on, Ray?"
She smiled slightly, taken aback at the serious nature of his question.
"You're kidding, right?"
He shook his head.
"You just got out of a serious relationship under extremely painful circumstances. Teddy's throwing you road blocks every two feet, and now this mess with the press… I want to have faith in you, Deacon. I do, but I'm going to bat for more than just myself here. I have to protect my daughters. I have to protect your daughter."
He smirked and focused his gaze on the floor. She could see that he was beaten and exhausted. She could see the demons hovering around him like flies on cake, but to her unspoken relief, she could also see something different in his eyes. He hadn't come up here to drink; he'd come up here to really just run away.
"What—" he choked, grabbing the back of the stool next to him to sturdy his gait. He swallowed hard before bringing his eyes up to hers. "I mean how… how can you come up here and say that to me with a straight face?"
"Excuse me?"
"All the sudden she's my daughter to you?"
Rayna crossed her arms.
"She is your daughter, Deacon. And now the whole world knows and we need to be her parents and figure out what the hell we're gonna do to protect her from this."
She could see the veins in his hand bulging as he gripped the back of the stool with immense force, all while clenching his other fist into a ball at his side.
"I went to a bar, Rayna," He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears. She pursed her lips. "I went in and I ordered a shot but I didn't take it. I looked at it. I thought about it. I even picked it up. I was weak when I walked in there. Finding out about Megan, Teddy riding my ass day in and day out, the fucking paparazzi pitching tents outside my house… but you know what?"
"What?" She responded dryly.
"I didn't fucking take it. All that was going through my head was my little girl. So I walked away. It was so easy to walk away. It'd never been so easy..." he trailed off.
Rayna cleared her throat and looked down, folding her hands in front of her.
"I'm proud of you, Deacon. That's—"
"I'm not finished," He stared at her, his misty eyes aflame with an anger that she had never seen. She planted her feet firmly, feeling sure that the anger was directed at no one but her. "When I put that shot glass down and walked out of that bar I was so happy. For the first time I knew that I had done right by her, finally. All I wanted was to hear her voice, so I called her. We talked for an hour."
A single tear slipped down Rayna's cheek.
"We talked about everything and nothing. It felt awesome. But when I hung up, I couldn't shake the feeling that I hate you."
She gasped.
They'd said terrible things to each other; they'd had knockdown, drag out fights but not once had either of them ever said… that. He may as well have punched her in the gut.
"Deacon, all I ever wanted was—"
She shrieked and jumped back as all of his strength went into his limbs and he pushed the stool over with a single hand.
"GOD DAMN IT, Rayna, you stole my daughter from me!"
Tears fell freely down his face, but his eyes were wild. Arteries bulged from his neck, red with ire. All of the hurt, anger, and pain of knowing the secret were boiling to his surface as he screamed at her. He couldn't pretend to forgive her anymore.
"I loved you more than anything in the world, Rayna! I wanted you! I wanted a family! I wanted her! You and her are all I ever wanted and you had her the whole time! I know I'm not perfect, but you hid her in plain sight while you let that piss ant piece of shit have every moment with her that was supposed to be mine. I was supposed to rock her to sleep. I was supposed to hold her when she cried. I was supposed to see her first steps and drop her off at preschool. I was supposed to be there because I'm her father."
Rayna stood completely still as silent sobs racked her body. She was numb with guilt, but also enraged. She was enraged with him; with Teddy; with the press... she was enraged with everyone, but mostly just herself.
She flinched slightly as Deacon inched closer to her. He was shaking and choking back his own sobs. She thought he was going to yell some more, but when he opened his mouth a biting whisper is what he let out.
"You didn't think I could do it, choose her over a drink. You didn't think I could love her enough. You say you had faith in me, but you didn't. And then you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me. You whispered it in my ear while I was inside you, after you gave birth to my child. What kind of person are you?"