Took forever to update - oops ;)
The sun was only half-risen when Rayna woke. Lazy light edged around the blinds, filling the room with the stillness only found at dawn. Rayna stirred under the covers, stretching her toes into the cool no man's land at the bottom of the bed.
The night her father had given her his ultimatum, do as he say or get out, she'd called Deacon. He'd brought her home to his house and led her, while she trembled and said little, to his room, tucking her into his bed and pulling an extra throw over her to make sure she was warm enough. She'd shivered anyway, and he'd sat on the edge of the bed murmuring soothing words until she'd fallen into a tense sleep.
The sheets had smelled strongly of him that night, Rayna remembered, musky and crisp. It had comforted her as she'd cried into his pillow, her father's harsh words ringing in her ears. He'd washed them the next day, making the bed up freshly for her to call her own for as long as she needed to, but his scent had still been there; fainter, and mingled with detergent, but still there.
She wondered, as she turned onto her belly and slid her hands under the pillow, if they smelled of her now, maybe of both of them. Something about the thought made her flush with warmth, and she let herself, just for a moment, picture Deacon on the couch in the next room. It wasn't quite long enough to accommodate his body, and his feet dangled over the edge of one arm. She'd tried to swap with him, being shorter and smaller, more couch-appropriate sized, but he wouldn't have it, no matter how many times she brought it up.
But it was Thursday, and Thursday meant they were leaving town, couches and beds and all.
Rayna lifted her head to check the clock on the side table: 5am. In four hours they would be meeting at Soundcheck to board their bus and head off to all that awaited them. Deacon had a bunk of his own, and Rayna had made him get in it the day before to test it out and make sure there was enough room for all of him. The master suite was small but cosy, and she'd packed more clothes than would probably fit in there, but she couldn't wait to make it her own.
She looked over at the suitcases that were standing upright by the door, waiting impatiently to be wheeled out of the house and on their way. She would miss the Deacon-smell though. Scanning the room as though someone might witness her indulgence, she curled onto her side and gathered the covers around her, cocooning herself and breathing them in.
Four hours later, when she pulled the suitcases out of the front door and let Deacon load them into his truck, she smiled to herself at the thought of the pillowcase she'd stashed between her t-shirts and clean pyjamas.
###
It was surprisingly busy in the Soundcheck parking lot for a time of day Rayna would have expected most musicians to still be in bed. Cars rumbled in and out, people carrying instruments and pushing road cases, yelling directions to each other and running this way and that.
Almost all of the commotion was for Randy's tour; silver buses were lined up with their trunks open while roadies loaded them up, huge trucks filled enough parking spaces for a fleet of cars each. Randy's bus was the plushest, his face emblazoned on the side and his entourage milling around it making sure everything was stocked just right.
'I can't believe we get to be part of this,' Rayna breathed, walking alongside Deacon towards the corner of the lot where their own bus was.
'Me either,' he said, giving her hand a brief squeeze. They'd parked where they could find a spot and he was loaded up with bags, most of them hers - she was never one to pack lightly. Vince trailed along behind them, the last of Rayna's suitcases in each of his hands, his own bag slung over his shoulder.
Watty greeted them at their bus. He was joining them the first couple of nights to see how they went, and he'd check in at some dates along the way, but was driving himself. His days of confined spaces and instant coffee were over, he'd said, though Rayna knew he was barely her father's age, and he was an active musician himself alongside his burgeoning mogul status.
She was sure the real reason was that he didn't want to cramp her style on her first time out, that there were things she should experience for herself. 'Lessons learned on the road can't be taught, they have to be lived,' he'd told her once. 'You find out who you are as an artist when the wheels are moving under your feet.'
He'd also enlisted Deacon to look out for her, she suspected. She hadn't heard either of them mention anything of the sort, but she'd seen the looks that had passed between them in recent weeks and they were enough. It gave her a warm, comforted feeling, though she'd never admit it.
They piled their stuff into their bunks, Rayna's into her little room, so much nervous energy and excitement between them that they weren't at all sure how they'd be able to sit long enough to reach the first venue. People were starting to pull out onto the street, honking their horns as they set off, buses following each other towards the highway, and they stood watching as the parade got underway.
'Where you think our driver is?' Kennedy asked, scanning the lot.
'Ask after the devil and she'll show up, honey.'
'Who is that?' Vince side-whispered, eyeing the woman walking towards them. She was in no hurry, a supersize coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
'Menthol,' she said, taking a last drag and tossing it on the ground. Rayna watched her stub it out with the toe of the most robust-looking cowboy boots she'd ever seen on a woman. 'Gave up last year, was gettin' huskier than a dog shelter. Name's Barb, you can call me ma'am.'
'Are you our driver?' Deacon asked. 'Ma'am?'
'Sure am. You must be lead guitar.'
He mumbled an affirmative after a beat, confused. Barb looked him up and down, neither appreciative nor disapproving, and gave a brisk nod. 'Guitar player's always the pretty one.'
Vince snorted at Deacon's side, shoving him with his shoulder.
'Let me guess,' Barb said, turning her attention to him. 'Hair hasn't seen a comb since your mother last bathed you, got that tattoo on your arm there after too many Jacks and you'd forgotten who Cindy was by the next mornin', but you tell people she was the girl who broke your heart anyway. Probably got a song or two about her.' She tilted her head, squinting at him. 'You're back-up guitar. Maybe dabble in a bit of drums, fancy yourself a closet frontman in a rock band one day.'
Vince's eyes widened, and he scrunched his face sheepishly, rubbing his arm where the swirly letters spelled out Cindy in dark red ink. Deacon shoved him back.
'And you,' Barb said, turning to face Rayna where she stood on Deacon's other side, somewhat terrified, 'you must be Rayna.' Her face broke into a wide smile, and suddenly she looked less like an intimidating trucker and more like someone who baked cookies on a Sunday morning. 'Sweet as pie, just like Watty said. You can call me Barb, darlin'.'
Rayna smiled back at her, taking an instant liking to her. 'You know Watty?'
'Only since he was in diapers. And I'll tell you, don't be fooled by Watty White - his mama's got a grey hair for every Cindy he ever forgot, too.' She winked at Rayna and threw a small suitcase into the hold. 'He couldn't have you bein' the only woman on a bus full of stinkin' men though. You an' me gotta stick together, sweetheart.'
As much as Rayna wouldn't have chosen anyone else to be on tour with, she felt a wave of gratitude that Barb was joining them. Tandy had been the mother figure in her life for the past few years and since Rayna had left her father's house, it was the biggest thing she missed.
Barb turned back to them, her expansive hips wedged against the doorframe of the bus. 'Y'all comin' or you decided to sit this tour out?'
They scurried after her, filing one by one up the steps while she adjusted her seat and made herself comfortable.
'You ready?' Deacon asked quietly when they sat down ready to set off. Rayna nodded on a deep breath, nerves flitting through her.
'Ready as I'll ever be. I don't think I'll really know until we play the first couple of shows.'
But she was wrong. She knew the minute the engine started up and the wheels began to roll out of the parking lot: she'd never been more ready for anything in her life.
###
Charlotte, North Carolina, 400 miles away in an almost straight line. Deacon looked at it on the foldout roadmap they'd brought with them, little swirls in Rayna's hand on each of the places they'd be stopping. There were so many of them it looked almost like the map had freckles. He turned it over; the ink had soaked through to the other side, and he liked it better, maybe, the enigma of it. Who ever really knew where they were going?
'Peein' on this bus is gonna be a problem. I just christened the bathroom for y'all, and I'm sorry to say it - mostly to you Rayna, bein' a lady and all - but it looks like the roof sprung a leak in there.'
Vince swayed back towards the long couches that ran along each side of the living area. They were foam-stuffed and patterned like something out of the 70s - Rayna was pretty sure her maternal Grandmother had had curtains just like them when she was a kid.
'You sure it wasn't you who sprung a leak Vince?' Kennedy said, slapping him on the shoulder.
'It's a good thing I have another bathroom in the back. Girls only, we can aim better.' Rayna tucked her legs under her and twisted the cap off a bottle of water.
'Hey, I got great aim,' Deacon teased. 'I think I should be exempt from that rule.'
'You hadn't changed your sheets for months before Rayna moved in, you're just as much of a slob as the rest of us.'
'You been hangin' out in my bed Vince?'
'Only when you're not in it.'
'How long have you three lived together?' Jimmy asked, flicking the radio on and twisting the dial to a local station playing some Willie Nelson.
'A few months,' Rayna said. 'I'll be findin' a place when we get back though, I've stayed far longer than I meant to.'
Deacon looked down at his hands. They'd had the conversation, briefly - she'd brought it up and he'd assured her there was no need for her to go anywhere, but he knew she didn't want to impose on them. The truth was, Rayna living with him and Vince had been the best few months he'd known, and he couldn't imagine waking up in a morning and not seeing her tumble out of his bedroom with her hair all messed up.
'Maybe we could find a bigger place,' he suggested, 'somewhere with enough room for the three of us.'
The look Vince gave him was subtle, caught by no one else, but Deacon knew exactly what it meant. Vince had loved having Rayna live with them almost as much as he had, but it was different, and they were both aware of it, no matter how much Deacon skirted the acknowledgement. He would do anything for her, anything to keep her in his life as much as possible, and it wasn't just as a roommate or a writing partner.
'Y'all need to stop and stretch your legs?' Barb called from up front. A chorus of agreement answered her and the bus slowed, swerving into a gas station at the side of the road.
They piled onto the hot tarmac, cicadas loud all around them. Best they ease into life on the road with regular stops to get their bearings, Barb told them, tossing her cap onto the driver's seat and disappearing into the vaguely air-conditioned diner. They were making good ground - Charlotte was three or so hours away, and they were scheduled to arrive just before dinner time. Their first show was the following night, so that everyone on the tour would have chance to run through soundcheck and final polishes in the concert hall.
'Hey,' Deacon said, catching Rayna's elbow so she hung back from the group with him while they trailed after Barb. 'You know you don't have to leave when we get back, Ray. It just... it wouldn't be the same without you now.'
Rayna smiled at him, hooking his forefinger with hers for a brief moment. 'Whatever happens when we get back to Nashville, it's not important now. This bus is our new home, and this is all that matters.'
He looked up at the big hunk of metal, the fumy heat it was giving off somehow already comforting. Their new home.
###
Arriving the evening before the first show was a luxury, so they'd been told. They stayed the first night in the same hotel as the rest of the tour, in considerably more basic rooms than Randy's entourage and the other support act, the opener they were opening for. They'd been given twin rooms, the boys sharing in pairs, Rayna in her own, something she felt more than guilty about, but hotels were to be a rarity on their journey across the country.
Rayna didn't sleep a wink. She stared at the clock on the rickety bedside table so hard the numbers blurred, trying to make herself stay in bed until the sun rose, going over and over lyrics in her head. When the light outside finally started to turn, she jumped out from under the covers and showered, too eager to take her time.
She was one of the first people in the dining room for breakfast, only a handful of crew scattered around looking like their coffee cups were life support machines. There was one familiar face though: Deacon sat by a window, staring outside at nothing, his hands wrapped around a cup. There was a plate of untouched food in front of him, a pile of crunchy bacon and some eggs that looked like they'd been sat there a week.
'You slept well too, huh?' she asked, pulling out the chair opposite him. He jumped a little, startled out of whatever his thoughts had been.
'Like a baby,' he said, his face softening into a rueful smile. 'Pancake?'
He slid his breakfast towards her, and she nibbled on a little piece he'd cut off and abandoned.
'I already feel like I could throw up,' she said, struggling to swallow it and pushing the plate back to him. She leaned on her elbows and looked out of the window at whatever he hadn't been seeing. 'Are we really doin' this Deacon?'
He took a deep breath. 'Yup. We really are.'
They had a short slot in the soundcheck schedule that afternoon for a one-shot run through of their set after Randy had done his full-show rehearsal. They could go and watch, Watty told them, and they jumped at the chance.
The sound of the band warming up thrummed underneath their feet; Rayna shivered, sitting on one of the creaky seats down in the stalls with her shoes off and her knees pulled up under her chin.
'They're good,' Jimmy said, halfway through the opening song, sounding intimidated.
'Of course they are.' Vince fidgeted in his seat, their collective nerves palpable.
Rayna, though, started to feel something shift. She leaned forward, forearms on the back of the seat in front of her, and watched intently. With every note and every direction, adrenaline coursed through her, but it no longer translated into the trepidation she'd been feeling. It fuelled her until she could no longer sit, and she jumped up and paced the aisle, eyes fixed on the stage she couldn't wait to get up on.
This is how it's done, she thought. Watching the professionals was exactly how you learned to be one.
###
It happened in a blur. The biggest show Rayna and Deacon had done before had been just north of a hundred people at one of the bars in downtown Nashville. That had felt huge, a Saturday night crowd, tip jar full after their seven songs.
It was a different thing altogether performing in a concert hall with a capacity of ten thousand. About half of them were in their seats when the lights went down, the rest milling at the bars on the foyer, but even half full there were a hell of a lot more than a hundred people watching them make their debut.
They were receptive, paying more attention the further Rayna and the band got into their set, and Deacon had dared to look out at some of the faces he could see in the front few rows. Some people were dancing, swaying along, some standing to get a better view. One woman started to sing along once she got the hang of a chorus, and Deacon nudged Rayna, watching her beam brightly when she saw.
Rayna was made to be on the stage. The bars they'd played had always made her shine, but the way she commanded a real stage, how she projected herself out into the entire audience, even if it wasn't yet packed to the rafters, was something beyond a seventeen year old first-timer. Deacon was intoxicated by it; he couldn't take his eyes off her as they performed, and he found himself craving the energy that rolled off her. She invited him into it, the beckoning as earnest as it was seductive, and he would write song after song to try to understand what happened when he accepted.
There was just something about Rayna. He'd seen it the very first time he'd met her, but he'd spent the past year and a half watching her start to see it too, watching her spread into the corners of herself with the curiosity of a child and the fever of a woman who wanted everything all at once, and was powerless and unwilling to slow herself down.
Twenty-five minutes passed like a breath. The comedown, he knew, would take far longer, and as he raced down the stairs he felt reckless, drunk on the feeling. Rayna whirled to face him and he saw the same thing in her eyes, wild and wide and full of joy.
'I can't believe that just happened,' she yelled over the thundering of the crowd as the next support emerged onto the stage. The atmosphere was palpable, electricity all around them. 'That was crazy!'
He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her easily, her laughter in his ear. 'You're amazin',' he marvelled, and when he put her down she reached up and stroked his cheek; the feeling was mutual.
'I couldn't have gotten up there without you,' she said.
Kennedy appeared beside them, wiping sweat from his brow. 'I could get used to this, I swear.'
'I'd say you'll probably get the chance. Great job up there.' Randy's drummer walked up beside them and clapped Deacon on the shoulder. 'Claybourne, right? Some skill you got.'
'Thanks,' Deacon said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders, always uncomfortable when paid a compliment.
'We haven't been properly introduced - Brett. Been out on the road with Randy a couple of years now. Y'all are in for a lotta fun.'
Brett held up his hand in a collective greeting, but extended it to Rayna and tipped his head at her when she shook it.
'You must be Rayna - I heard you were joinin' us. My brother saw you play at the Bluebird a couple of months back, had good things to say about you.'
Deacon watched him hang onto Rayna's hand too long. He had a towel slung around his neck and for the life in him, Deacon couldn't work out what the purpose of it was when he wasn't due on stage for over an hour.
'Oh, that was me and Deacon,' Rayna told him, gesturing to him with her free hand. 'We've played the Bluebird a couple of times now, just a Tuesday night but it's so hard to get on the bill there.'
'Uh huh,' Brett said. He finally let go but didn't look away from her. She seemed unperturbed by it, but Vince glanced at Deacon with a raised eyebrow.
'That really your first show together?'
'As a band, yeah,' Deacon interjected. 'Ray and I play together a lot back home.'
'Right,' Brett replied, looking him up and down slowly. 'Well, welcome to the tour. Y'all need anythin', you just ask.' He ran a hand through his floppy hair, already slick with sweat, or maybe it was gel. 'Stick around and watch the show, gonna be a good one!'
He gripped both ends of his towel, flexing the muscles in his arms, and winked at Rayna as he walked away.
###
Their first night sleeping on the bus was strange, and exciting. Rayna's ears were still ringing when she eventually tore herself away from everyone and headed to bed. She lay on her back staring up at the ceiling, bone-tired and too exhilarated to sleep.
They were on their way to Atlanta, and she couldn't wait to get back at it. Every time she'd done a show in Nashville she'd been impatient for the next one, but the feeling was nowhere near as fierce as this.
The bus was already messy and theirs. Rayna's shoes spilled out of her room and cluttered every corner, dirty bowls of half-eaten Smash were stacked up in the kitchen. She hadn't been able to take a step without finding a discarded guitar pick, but she'd become used to that, living with Deacon the past few months. They'd unpacked as much as they were likely to, her tour outfits hung up in the compact wardrobe in her room, everything else stuffed in the suitcases that were wedged around and under her bed.
The boys had chosen their bunks, and Rayna had test-driven one of them to try it out for size. It was pretty comfortable, she had to admit, and there was room to stretch her toes out and still not touch the edge. Her own bed was bigger than a single, not quite a double, and she'd swapped one of the pale yellow pillowcases for the one she'd smuggled from Deacon's room back home.
She was surprised, as she lay there re-playing the night over and over, to find her eyes closing, the bus rocking her easily into a deep sleep. When she woke it was morning and they were stationary, parked outside the next venue. She rolled onto her side and moved the blind aside, peering through the crack. The sun was out, the parking lot still and quiet, for the moment.
###
The gaggle of fans waiting outside the venues was ever-present. They were in every new city, always there at the gates when the fleet of buses and trucks arrived and still there when they left, hours, sometimes days, later.
They wore t-shirts with Randy's face on, previous tour dates listed on their backs and posters clutched in their hands for him to sign. Rayna stared out of the bus windows at them wondering if there would ever come a day they'd be there for her.
They had a long way to go, but a couple of the early reviews of the show had mentioned them, favourably so, and she'd about burst reading her name there in black and white. Keep an eye on this girl, one had said. She'd ripped the column out and stashed it away inside a pocket in her purse.
So far they'd seen little of the cities they were playing, mostly the roads leading in and out of them and the first restaurant or cafe they stumbled upon to grab food before a show. They were quickly learning that the majority of free time on a tour was that spent in transit to the next town, but there was the occasional travel day or overnighter, and aftershow parties were thrown as standard to celebrate. Rayna wasn't sure they counted as free time exactly, given that she'd been commandeered by Watty to be introduced to industry people at every one.
It didn't matter though - she was happy as could be, and seeing the country through rolling windows was fascinating to her. Each place smelled different when they stepped out into the air, dry and hot and honeysuckle, sweet and musky and humid, cool and fresh with pines, and each crowd was unique in their own way. She watched the whole show from the side of the stage every night, Deacon always beside her, taking in the audience as much as the performances - their faces, their screams, the particular choruses they sang louder than others.
Music was everywhere, all the time. It was Rayna's own version of heaven; she woke to the sound of guitars in the living room of the bus, and drank her morning coffee with bleary eyes and a happy heart. Soundchecks, shows, musty winding corridors echoing with the tuning of instruments. Old favourite classics they sang into the small hours of the morning, in hotel rooms, on the bus - Johnny and June and George, mile after mile.
Rayna wrote every day. She was brimming with songs, pushing herself further and playing with new styles and forms. She wrote most of them with Deacon, who was just as inspired, and somehow they were taking everything that had worked so naturally between them from the beginning and ripping it open wider than they could have imagined.
Maybe it was the freedom of the road, maybe it was something else entirely, but they didn't question it. She sat closer to him when she scribbled lyrics, he rested his arm on her knee when he tuned his guitar. No one in their band said a thing.
###
'I can't wait for you to get out here and see the show, Tandy. It's just as much fun as I hoped it was gonna be. And you should see Randy, he's such a great performer. I'm learning a lot from him.'
'I'll be there in a few weeks, babe. And I can't wait either, it's quiet without you in town.'
Rayna twisted the wire of the payphone around her finger. The gas stations were all starting to look the same, dusty and forgotten, the coffee bitter and the restrooms questionable. She'd lost track of where exactly they were currently.
'How's Daddy?' she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Tandy paused on the other end. 'You know, he's Daddy. He fired another secretary.'
'What did this one do?'
'She didn't photocopy on the right kind of paper, apparently.'
Rayna rolled her eyes so hard she almost sprained her neck. 'Glad to hear he's keepin' well, then.' She popped her gum and propped one foot behind her on the grimy glass of the booth, inspecting a bruise on her knee.
'Some things never change,' Tandy said, and there was another pause. 'He misses you, Rayna. He doesn't say it but I know he does. He hasn't been quite himself since you left.'
'Since I left town or since I left his house?'
'You know he didn't want you to move out of the house.'
The bus was parked up over the other side of the gas pumps. Barb was leaning against it, smoking a menthol cigarette, though Rayna was sure she'd smelled tobacco on her more than once. She watched her take a deep drag, closing her eyes with relish as she blew the smoke up into the air.
'He didn't give me much choice, Tandy. If I wanted to spend forever doing exactly as he says, then sure, I could have stayed. But I don't, so I didn't. And now I'm on a huge tour, livin' my life. This is what I wanted. I wasn't going to let him keep this from me.'
She heard Tandy sigh into the receiver. 'I know, sweetheart, and I'm right behind you, you know that. But think about it, I mean what are you gonna do what you come home? You can't keep living with Deacon and his waster friend - people down at the Country Club are talking, Rayna.'
'Are you kiddin' me with that? I don't care what people at the damn Country Club are sayin', Tandy, come on,'
'I know you don't, but Daddy does, and… this is a small town, people form opinions and it's hard to shake them. And you living with two older boys, at seventeen, I mean, it doesn't look good. If this music career doesn't work out, you don't want your reputation to keep you from finding a real job. Daddy would let you move back in, I can talk to him.'
'Tandy, I don't want you to talk to him, okay? I'm not movin' back in, I don't give a damn what anyone's bullshit opinions are, and this music career is a real job. Look, I love you, but I have to go. I'll see you in Louisville.'
She hung up before her sister could say another word, slamming the receiver down a little too hard. A homemade flyer for Bobby's Nip 'N' Truck automobile repair shop flew off the glass and Rayna trampled on it when she stormed out of the booth towards the bus.
'Hey,' Deacon said as she swept past him. 'Ray? You okay?'
'I'm fine,' she said, without looking back, and he knew better than to go after her when she thudded up the steps and into her room. It was one of the only times she'd closed her bedroom door when she wasn't going to sleep.
/
They'd been driving for so many hours Deacon had stopped seeing anything out of the window. The night beyond it was grey, thick clouds muting a near-full moon, and only headlights from occasional oncoming trucks disturbed the monotony.
He'd laid in his bunk for a couple of hours listening to the gradual snores of his bandmates as they'd fallen asleep around him, his mind on Rayna, who hadn't come back out of her room. He didn't know what had upset her but she'd been more relaxed on the road than he'd ever seen her, so he guessed it had to be related to her family back home.
They'd taken to the lifestyle on the road like they were made for it, and he'd been soaking up every moment of the experience, and every moment of Rayna. Something was happening with her that he knew he would never be able to understand fully if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes; she was shedding layers, with every mile, every song they wrote, every new city they came to - doubt, pain, naivety. Underneath were all the things he'd seen in her all along, but they were becoming brighter and keener than he could have imagined.
The most incredible part of it was that he was right there with her; she was unfolding with one hand in his. With every unspoken revelation they grew closer, and it was like nothing he'd ever known. It was there, that something, every moment, but when they sang together it erupted. Every time they stepped onto the stage it was as though the air between them was sucked away and they were inexplicably pulled together, the intensity of it startling. A feeling in Deacon's blood was growing and he didn't know where to begin to decipher it. So he didn't try.
'You couldn't sleep either?'
He looked up, and there she was. Rayna, in cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt, her hair crumpled in all directions. She rubbed her face and dropped onto the couch next to him, pulling her legs up and resting her head on her knees, looking at him through tired eyes.
'Not a wink,' he said. 'You okay?'
She didn't answer, just stared out of the window. He reached for her hand, and her lips tilted into the shadow of a smile.
'My sister thinks I'm wasting my time on this tour. She thinks this is something I'll get out of my system, just a whimsy.'
'She said that?'
'She said Daddy wants me to move home. I'm shamin' the family.'
Deacon watched her shoulders tense, waiting for her to say more. Her grasp on his hand tightened.
'My mother would have understood. She would have supported me doing this. Tandy and my father, they just… they don't get it. They don't get me.'
'I don't know about your daddy, Ray, but Tandy, she wants to understand at least. She wants to know you.'
'She doesn't, Deacon, not really. She wants to know the me she wants me to be. Since Momma died she's changed, she's become so much more like Daddy. She always was, but I don't know, it's different.' She turned her face further towards the window but he saw her eyes water anyway. 'It's all different.'
'Don't write your sister off, Ray. She's not like you, but she lost your Momma too. Sounds to me like she's afraid to really see you, because if she does, she might just see more of your Momma than she can handle.'
Rayna lifted her head and looked at him. After a moment she nodded, thoughtful.
'Sometimes I feel like I don't have a family anymore,' she whispered. 'You know?'
Deacon took in a breath. 'Yeah, I do.'
An understanding passed between them and Rayna lowered her knees, making herself more open to him, more vulnerable. He could see her eyes in the dark, big and round and fixed on him.
'Do you ever get lonely Deacon?'
He'd never asked himself that question, and he thought about it for a moment, but he didn't really need to - his answer was already clear. 'Before, yeah,' he said, 'but since I met you? Not at all.'
She smiled, still holding onto his hand. 'We're each other's family now,' she said in a tiny voice, and he felt his heart contract. She was like a balm to all the broken parts of him, her sweet face full of love and obvious affection for him. No one had ever looked at him the way Rayna did.
'Come on,' he said, his throat cracking slightly, 'I'll tuck you in.'
He stood and tugged her up with him, and together they walked towards her room, the door still ajar as she'd left it. He pulled back the covers and she slipped between them, and for a brief moment he let himself sit on the edge of her bed. She lay on her back, her hair splaying out onto the pillow, and held his gaze.
There in the dimness, the sound of the engine and her soft breathing all he could hear, a million miles away from their lives and right there at the heart of them, Deacon felt an overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss her.
He cleared his throat, trying to calm the thrum in his ears, and stood quickly, whispering a goodnight. It was as he turned away that he felt her hand on his arm.
'Stay with me?'
He hesitated and she sat up, scooting over to make room for him. She looked up at him with those eyes, and he knew he would have given her anything she wanted, said yes to any whim.
'You can't sleep, I can't sleep - we may as well not-sleep together, in a comfortable bed.' She patted the mattress beside her, and he was a goner.
When he woke the next morning, her head was against his shoulder, her body happily prone as she slept soundly next to him.
He slipped out of the bed before he could let himself think about how warm her skin was.
###
Brett had drummed in bands for years, and he'd seen a lot of attractive girls come and go. He'd slept with half of them - maybe slightly more than half - and boy did he make the most of that what-happens-in-Vegas attitude that came with being on the road.
Rayna Jaymes was something he wanted, bad. He watched all of her performances, and she was getting better and better. Best thing about it was the better she got, the hotter she became. Her confidence was soaring and he was pretty sure her shorts were getting shorter as it did.
Or maybe he was just staring more closely at her ass.
She was younger than him, he wasn't sure how young exactly but as long as she was over sixteen - and he was pretty sure she was, based on the contents of those white vests she threw on for soundchecks - any extra years were just spare change.
The only problem, he figured, was the guitar player. He wasn't sure what their relationship was, and he'd been watching them, trying to decipher how much of a threat the guy was to his chances. They didn't seem to be screwing - Claybourne would surely look at her with less of a pained expression if he was getting some.
Brett decided to seize his moment to dig during a breezy afternoon when they had time to kill before the night's show. Not enough time to do anything other than piss about in the venue, but enough that Rayna was up on the stage freestyling with a couple of roadies while they were at a loose end. She had a pair of cowboy boots on, those lean legs perfectly tanned, and she was clearly having the time of her life. Every time she threw her head back and laughed freely his jeans got a little tight.
'She's quite somethin', huh?' he said deliberately, sidling up beside Deacon, who was leaning against a road case in the wings. When Brett got closer he saw the slack smile on his face as he watched Rayna, and cursed internally.
Deacon looked over at him in slight surprise at the disturbance of his apparent fantasies. 'She sure is.'
Letting the budding bromance flourish for a minute or two might get him a bit looser, Brett thought, so he stood and folded his arms, mirroring him in what he thought was a comradely kind of way.
'Pretty nice Martin the fella with all the hair's got there. Quite a piece of wood, am I right?'
Deacon nodded a little wistfully, and Brett mentally awarded himself a point. Fuck it, that'd do.
'So Rayna, what's the deal there? She single?'
He thought maybe he'd gone for it a bit too soon - Deacon's jaw tensed so much that he could see the vein in his neck bulge. He just about managed to stop himself holding up his hands in surrender so the guy didn't pop him one. So they definitely weren't screwing - if he'd been able to get his hands on that girl he wouldn't be nearly so insecure about a brother wanting to get into her pants.
'I guess,' Deacon just about got out in reply, through some pretty gritted teeth.
That was all Brett needed to hear. He nodded in satisfaction, ignored Deacon's glare as he gave Rayna one last up and down, and walked off to go crack open a beer.
###
The Saturday night Oklahoma show was a big one, the loudest yet, and the first of three over the weekend.
They were staying in a hotel a few blocks away that had been completely taken over by the tour, with familiar faces everywhere and polite staff tolerating the never-ending stream of musicians and equipment in and out.
The aftershow was being held in a bar downtown, doubling as a birthday celebration for Randy's guitarist, and it was the first party Watty hadn't been able to make. Rayna was excited to let her hair down, and she raced back to her room while Randy was doing his encore to touch up her make-up and change. She pulled off her stage outfit and threw her boots into a corner, and stood, hands on hips, before a row of three suitcases. They were propped open against the wall, each brimming with clothes, piles upon piles of outfits, odd shoes tumbling out onto the floor, crumpled shirts and legs of jeans trying to make a bid for freedom.
'I have nothing to wear,' she'd told the boys as she'd dashed through the lobby towards the elevator to get to their floor, and they'd humoured her, having been the ones to carry the offending suitcases in from the bus.
She dropped to her knees and started to rummage, considering and discounting things as she went, holding up skirts and tops and tossing them blindly behind her when they just weren't right.
And then she saw a flash of shimmering black at the bottom of one of the cases, underneath the neatly folded clothes she hadn't yet gotten to since she'd left home. She tugged on it, pulling the garment free. It was the dress she'd seen on her shopping trip with Tandy, the one she'd wanted to get for Rayna. It seemed she had.
Rayna shook her head, suddenly homesick, wishing she could close her eyes and her sister appear. She hadn't called Tandy since their fight, and she'd made herself as hard to get in touch with as she could, wanting to affirm that her decisions were hers alone to make.
She slipped the dress over her head; it fit perfectly, just like Tandy had known it would.
/
The bar was dim and smoky, with low ceilings and exposed pipes, populated with the kind of leather booths that had seen better days. It was on the edge of town, quiet enough to be private, lively enough to host a good time, and they'd hopped in a cab from the hotel, taking in the sights of Oklahoma City as they'd driven through its streets.
Rayna hopped up onto a high stool at the bar, thankful she'd always been tall for her age.
'A coke, please,' she said to the barman who took one look at her cleavage and almost fell over himself to serve her.
'I can order you a real drink, you know,' Vince said, wedging himself on the stool next to her and signalling that he wanted a round of whiskey shots. He slapped a handful of dollars down to cover the shots and the coke.
'This is a real drink. And that looks like it tastes awful.' She watched him down a generous measure and grimace in satisfaction when he slammed the glass back on the bar.
'It tastes like all the things you wanna do but don't got the balls to,' he said, sliding a shot in front of her. 'Must be a couple of those, right?'
She swilled the amber liquid around dubiously. 'It smells like paint stripper.'
'You'll get used to it.' He lifted another glass for himself and clinked it with hers in a toast. 'On the count of three we drink to that dress, and all the hearts you're breakin' in it.'
She tipped her head back when he got to three, copying the way he tossed the liquor down his throat in one go.
'I think I got a defective one,' she wheezed in repulsion, reaching for her coke when the burn kicked in. Vince chuckled and waited for her to finish gagging.
When she jumped off the stool and followed him back to their booth, her head felt pleasantly woozy. Someone put a quarter in the jukebox next to the bar and hit play on a Johnny Cash track, and she smiled to herself, thinking maybe Vince was right, the whiskey wasn't so bad; her bones felt heavy and she kind of liked it.
'Supper,' Vince announced, setting the tray of drinks down on their table.
Deacon hadn't taken his eyes off Rayna since she'd walked into the hotel lobby to meet them. He'd had trouble saying much all night, and she felt his stare again as she slipped into the seat next to Kennedy, who was talking to the fiddle player from the other support act. She glanced back at Deacon and he shifted in his seat, clearing his throat and reaching for a shot. He made it look so easy, one tip and one swallow, and she watched him lick his lips to snag any missed drops.
'Any takers for a round of pool?'
Jimmy grabbed Rayna's hand before she could decline and led her to an empty table. He handed her a pool cue and a little blue cube of chalk, and she looked at it uncertainly.
'What do I do with this?'
'You chalk your cue with it,' he said, showing her how, and she mimicked him.
'And then you hit the balls,' Vince said, leaning on the edge of the table while Jimmy filled a plastic triangle. 'You never played pool before Rayna, not even as a kid?'
'You've never met my father, have you?' She kicked off her heels. 'I learned to golf when I was six though, does that count?'
'Depends - was it crazy golf?'
She laughed. 'So this is a guy's idea of a good time - hittin' balls with sticks and drinkin' paint stripper?'
'And lookin' at girls,' Jimmy threw in.
'Yup. Those are the sure-fire ingredients for a night of fun.' Vince watched her twist the chalk on the end of her cue again, steadier this time. 'I got a feelin' you're gonna be good at this.'
'Well I don't like to lose,' Rayna said, flashing him a dangerous smile.
'What do you say we crank this up a notch, fellas, put a little money on this? A twenty on your bet to win, loser buys the next round.' Vince pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his Levi's.
Rayna looked at Deacon, who had picked up a cue himself and was leaning on it, chewing his bottom lip.
'My money's on her,' he said, eyes fixed on her, and she felt herself shiver.
'You take the first shot,' she told Jimmy, and he obliged, stepping forward and knocking a yellow into the pocket closest to him.
Rayna leaned over the table, not caring how low-cut her dress was, and focused on the white ball. She did as Jimmy had done, slid the cue through her thumb and forefinger until it looked like it was in about the right place, and slammed it forwards, hard. It hit a bunch of clogged balls, and two of them disappeared down opposite pockets.
'Not bad,' Vince said with a low whistle, 'not bad at all.'
She felt Deacon's eyes following her as she picked up her chalk again.
/
She wandered over to the jukebox when she grew bored of teasing Vince and Jimmy for being beaten by a girl, and left them trying to out-do Deacon, the night's reigning champion. Their games had attracted quite a crowd, and it turned out Vince had been somewhat right - hitting balls with sticks did make for a pretty good time.
Browsing through the songs, she sipped another glass of whiskey, this one with ice and a sprinkle of brown sugar, far more to her liking. She leaned against the machine, humming along to the old Loretta Lynn song the person before her had chosen and wondering how to follow such a classic.
'You here with the tour that's passin' through town?'
She turned around, and a bearded guy she'd seen talking to Randy's manager earlier held a glass of something clear out to her.
'Ahm, yeah, I am,' she said, shaking her head at the proffered drink.
'It's rum,' he said, moving closer. 'I figured you look like a rum kind of girl.'
'Oh? And what does a rum kind of girl look like?'
'Like someone I wanna get to know better.'
He slung his arm on the jukebox, leaning into her, and she frowned and tried to step out of his way, but he blocked her path.
'What song were you gonna choose?' he asked. 'Beautiful girl like you, I'll bet you were goin' for somethin' you can slow dance to. How about I show you how it's done?'
'Baby?'
She looked around him to see Deacon, his hand held out to her. She took it without thinking, and he pulled her gently towards him and put his arm around her shoulders.
'You pick a song baby?' he asked, and she shook her head, going along with whatever it was he was doing.
'I was just about to help her with that,' the bearded guy said, obviously displeased. 'You mind leavin' us to it?'
'I do mind, actually, yeah.'
'And who the hell are you?'
Deacon moved his arm from Rayna's shoulders to her waist. She'd never noticed quite how big his hands were until his fingers were curled around her hip.
'I'm her boyfriend,' he said.
The guy glared at Rayna. 'Whatever,' he scoffed, side-stepping them both. 'I'll be over here if you change your mind.'
'I'm not gonna change my mind,' she said, looking up at Deacon and letting herself melt into his warmth. 'Thanks for rescuin' me,' she mouthed when they were alone, and he smiled at her, but neither of them moved away.
'Asshole.' He leaned down close to her ear. 'Can't say I blame him though.'
'You can't?'
He reached over and pressed a button on the jukebox, and the opening chords of her favourite John Connolly song started up. 'No,' he said, and somehow his other hand found its way around her waist too. 'You're pretty irresistible.'
'Oh really?' she murmured, and she was sure his cheeks were pinker than usual. Maybe it was the whiskey, but she thought hers might be too. 'You seem to be resisting just fine.'
Deacon looked at her intently, and the shake of his head was barely visible. 'By the skin of my damn teeth, Ray,' he whispered, so quietly she almost didn't hear him, and she would swear the next morning that she hadn't anyway.
But tonight, she let her arms wind around his neck, her body alight with tingles everywhere they touched, and they swayed to the rest of the song
/
The payphone outside the bar was dangling off its hook, like someone had tried to slam it down and missed. Rayna picked it up and fed a couple of quarters into the slot. She knew the number she wanted off by heart, and dialled it quickly, waiting for it to click and ring at the other end.
'Hello?' came the voice that answered, sounding groggy and more than a little pissed off.
'I'm sorry it's so late,' she said hurriedly, feeling like she might cry at the relief that washed over her. 'It's me.'
'I know it's you,' the voice replied, considerably softer. 'Of course I know it's you.'
She let a tear roll down her cheek. 'Hey Tandy.'