Rayna stares at her 19 yr old self in the cracked mirror that hangs on the wall in her tiny room on the back of the bus. For the first time, she wonders if she's cut out for this.

The last three years of her life have been a rollercoaster. Finishing school with a private tutor, playing every gig Watty could get her, even the ones that barely paid and were solely for the sake of publicity. She's come a long way, finding herself. It's not easy, but she sees it as her penance. She lived sixteen years of an easy life. To get somewhere on her own, she has to face the music. Literally. She likes being independent, making her own decisions. She is happy.

But right now the tears in her eyes are what is reflected back at her in the mirror.

She hates crying. It stuffs up her nose, and makes her eyes red, and makes her feel like a little girl.

Lamar says crying is a sign of weakness.

She hasn't seen her Daddy since the night he kicked her out of the house when she was sixteen, the night it all began. Tandy comes to shows whenever she can. She says he ain't budging. He wants her to go to college and work in the family business, and if she decides to do that, she can come home.

Well she ain't budging either, she tells Tandy every time. And why in the hell would she ever want to go home to that stuffy old mansion anyway. She's perfectly happy with the new apartment her and Deacon moved into last year in the better part of Nashville. It's not much, but it's theirs.

She closes her eyes so she doesn't have to look at how miserable she feels in that moment, but that just has her reliving the melee of the last hour all over again.

The Kentucky state fair show tonight was nothing but one giant-ass disaster.

Something was messed up with the soundboard, and she could hardly hear herself. Halfway through the second song, the entire stage lost power except for two lights over her head. She tried to hold the crowd on her own while the tech guys hurriedly tried to fix it but they were so riled up and half drunk already that they didn't care that it wasn't her fault.

Someone throws a beer and it hit her in the knee, splashing everywhere. After that a whole bunch of crap lands on the stage at her feet.

"Show me your boobs, that'll make up for it," some guy in the front row yells.

"You suck. Get off the stage little girl and get a real artist up there."

They started chanting for Cody Keeler, the drinking, cursing, cowboy-hat wearing headliner who is up next.

Deacon stands behind her with his guitar looking like he wants to jump right off the stage and pound that guy into the floor. It wouldn't be the first time. Always her protector, even when she staunchly states she doesn't need one. She shakes her head slightly to ward him off before hell really breaks loose.

Deacon hadn't thought it was even a good idea for her to open for Keeler in the first place. It was Bucky's idea, this new manager Watty has stuck her with.

Rayna picks the cup off of the stage and tosses it back toward the crowd.

"If you wanted to buy me a beer, you coulda just said so," she tries to lighten the raucous crowd. A titter of laughter goes out among them, the soundboard lights up again, and things turn better.

It is still the longest 30 minutes of her life, but she sticks it out.

When the lights finally go down, she finds the promoter and demands to know what the hell went wrong with the electrical circuit. He tells her exactly what he thinks of her diva attitude, and she tells him in no uncertain terms to find someone else for the last show tomorrow night if it isn't fixed.

She's shaking by the time she retreats to the bus, trying to act like she's the one running her show. Watty tells her this all the time, she needs to be a little more demanding or they're gonna see her pretty face and walk all over it.

Deacon is the one that finds her. He always finds her when no one else can.

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

Rayna feels the hand on her shoulder before she sees him in the reflection of the mirror behind her.

"Proud of you."

"They hated me," she says, with a hitch in her voice.

"But you coulda walked off the stage and given up," he says. "And you didn't."

He hates seeing the tears in her eyes. If he's learned anything about Rayna in the last few years, it's that she's not a quitter. She's tough as nails, and she can take a hell of a lot. But when she can't take it, she sure doesn't want anyone to know it. But she lets him see. He is the only one she lets her guard down around.

Sometimes he secretly revels in this a little, that these parts of her are only for him. She is his, just like he is hers.

"They don't hate you, darlin," he says. "They don't even know you. This is a drunk cowboy crowd. This ain't a Rayna Jaymes crowd."

She laughs in spite of herself. "I don't even have a Rayna Jaymes crowd."

"Well some day you will."

"Maybe my father was right. Maybe I don't have what it takes."

"Don't you ever say that." Deacon says, sliding his arms around her waist from behind and pulling her in close to kiss her cheek. "Cuz you know it ain't true. That would be letting em all win. Look at that girl in the mirror there. You see that? I wanna see her pretty smile."

She forces it for him, but the corners of her mouth pull up for real, and his face next to hers crinkles into his own grin. She likes the way they look together in that mirror.

Deacon always keeps her going. He knows her, sees things about her nobody else can.

He gets her.

She smiles at his reflection. "You know I fell in love with you about 10 minutes after I met you."

Love is a not a new word between them, and it shows up often. It's in the songs they write. It's in the red guitar picks with the ILY written on the back she leaves in his shirt pockets for him to find. It's in the bed they share in their apartment, the one they have together back at home in Nashville but rarely see lately. It is them.

She's never felt it before him, but she sure as hell knows what it feels like now.

"Ten minutes, huh?" He kisses her neck. "I thought it was more like five."

"Well, I couldn't make it that easy," she teases softly. "Besides, it took you half a year to even kiss me. I was so damn jealous watching groupies hang all over you all the time. I was starting to think you were scared of me."

"I wasn't scared of you," he laughs. "I was scared of Watty's wife. That woman still gives me the evil eye every time I see her."

But it's different now. She's not sixteen anymore. She's 19, and he's headed for 23.

He's not one who ever gives a damn what people think, but her he worries about; her quickly rising career, and what people will say about them being together.

You need to find someone better than me, he says all the time. I come from nothing, Ray.

She gets mad when he talks like that. I don't want anyone better than you.

Watty isn't the only one who has taken notice that they're a good kind of magic together. Everybody sees it. The music just flows out of the two of them, like they're one and the same, but it's not just the music, it's everything else that comes with it that makes the music better. It's been that way since the beginning. Rayna feels like it will be that way forever. She can't imagine ever loving anyone else. She can't imagine ever having anyone else on the stage with her. It is perfection.

Tandy always gives her that Look when she says she loves him.

Think what you want, Tandy, but I swear I'm gonna love that man for the rest of my life.

Rayna looks at their reflections once more and sighs. "It can't really get much worse than tonight, though, right? If I survived that, I can make it through anything."

She slumps on the edge of the bed. Things really are going good now. Finally. Watty got her on this Keeler summer tour opening at fairs all over the country. It's something more than just the free beer tent for once. Her name is getting out there, and her songs are getting heard. They've even got this nice big old tour bus now, instead of hauling everything around in whoever's piece of crap vehicle it would fit in. Another courtesy of Watty. He was taking her places. In some ways he was more like a father figure to her than Lamar ever had been. He's working on a record deal for her. She'll do whatever he thinks is right, she says, as long as she can have Deacon onstage next to her.

Deacon sits down on the bed next to her, and pulls her against him. They fall backwards onto the pillows, her head on his chest. "Just a bump in the road, Baby," he says. "You're getting there."

"Thanks," she says softly. "Why do you even put up with me? I mean, am I turning into a diva?"

His face lights up in a half grin. "Well, maybe just a little."

She smacks his chest.

Truth was, He had been a sucker for Rayna since the first time he laid eyes on her, for her blue eyes and her sweet voice. For everything about her, the way she sings, the way she fits so perfectly next to him whether they're laying on the couch at home together or crammed into this damn tiny bed on the bus, the way her arms go around his neck, the way she presses her lips to his and makes every worry in the world melt away.

Trying to stay away from her was pointless. He'd found that out after the first time they played together at the Bluebird three years ago.

Loving her was much, much easier.

He reaches over and turns off the light switch, and closes his eyes as she snuggles in closer against him. They lay there in the dark, drifting off in each other's arms.

Tomorrow is another day, and the disaster of tonight will be forgotten.

"You think it'll always be like this?" She murmurs. "Us, I mean?"

"I sure as hell hope not. I don't plan on living on this bus when I'm 70."

"Deacon…" she sighs. "That's not what I meant."

But he can feel her smile in the dark.

"Pretty soon you'll be a big-ass star, and you'll have everything you gave up, Ray. You won't even need a crappy old bus, private planes and limos will do just fine."

"Babe, you know I don't need any of that stuff," she says quietly. "I'd be happy just with a little house on a lake somewhere, just you and me sitting on the porch writing songs and getting old."

"You deserve that stuff," he says softly, tightening his arm around her a little. "But you and me? Yeah. It'll always be this way. No one will ever love you like I do, Ray."

They don't know it in that moment in the dark, but in a year she will be riding hiding on the success of her first album. In a year he will already be heading into the downward spiral that carries them away from each other. The road will carry them farther apart than they ever imagined before it brings them back together. Years later, a Rolling Stone reporter will describe it better than anyone else ever has when he says there is a pull between them, a mixture of music and love all tangled up into something so tangible you can feel it when you as much as stand in the same room. It is undeniable.

That's the way it's always been. And that is the way it always will be.