Thank you so much for the wonderful comments! A huge thank you to Shiny Jewel who Beta'd the first two chapters (way more than she volunteered for) and for Deb who helped me with this one!

CHAPTER 3

I know New York is considered the city that never sleeps but truth is, neither does Nashville. Starving musicians who work the first shift at restaurants bustle their way downtown while all night deejays host singers that nobody has ever heard of. Downtown glows with neon signs even in the early morning hours as music executives make their way into their high rise offices. Tootsies and Banana Duke's start booking signers as early as 10 am.

No, Nashville is never really quiet. But tonight as I watch Deacon walk up the cement stairs to Rayna's place the entire city seems to be holding its breath. Rayna's car is in the same space it was in last night but that doesn't mean she's there. She could very well be with Teddy. I did offer to go to the door with Deacon but he insisted this was something he needed to do on his own.

I gave Deacon a twenty for the cab ride home. I could tell he wanted to give the money back to me for several reasons, namely pride and hope that Rayna would want him to spend the night. But he took the money after I insisted and gave me a humble "thank you." Then I told him I'd drop off his luggage at his house in the morning.

I lose sight of Deacon as he puts hands in his pocket and rounds the building. I clutch the steering wheel out of some nervous habit. I'll wait ten minutes and if Deacon hasn't returned by then, I'll go head home to my place.

I don't know if I believe in God but I send up a prayer just in case. If prayer does work, Deacon needs it now.

I've done the walk Deacon is doing now. Only my walk was when Rayna was nearing her second birthday. Perhaps, if I'd stayed in Nashville after Gracie told me she was going back to Lamar I would have known from the beginning.

Instead, I joined Ronnie Boodine's tour, as a picker on the road. Even when I returned to Tennessee, I avoided anything having to do with Lamar or Gracie for well over two years. It wasn't difficult. I lived in the darkness of honkytonks and late night recording sessions and she stayed in the high society of Belle Meade.

(**)

I tighten my fist as a faint rumble of thunder fills the air. I've knocked three times now and still haven't heard her voice or the television or even patter of feet. I begin to think either she's not there or she's asleep in that back bedroom and can't hear me. Then I hear the click of the lock and a second later I find myself face to face with Ray.

She's wearing one of her old Garth Brooks t-shirts from a tour we did six or seven years ago. It's frayed at the bottom and the neck hole is much large now than it used to be. I can see her collar bone and half her shoulder. She is wearing a pair of my old pajama bottoms. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail with curls and pieces flying in all directions. She had been asleep. But I'm focused on her blue eyes. They hold a mixture of exhaustion and surprise. She says my name twice before her words sink in and I realize that I'm supposed to say something.

I ask to come inside and she hesitates. She has one of those internal battles with herself and looks back into her place. It occurs to me that Teddy might be in there, in her bed. I get angry at the thought, then I get angrier at the idea that if he was in her condo, he'd let Rayna open the door after midnight by herself.

She finally finishes her internal conversation and opens the door more fully. For a second, it feels like it always does with just me and her. I've apologized and begged my way back into her house and life more times than I can remember. But as she turns the light on in the living room I'm reminded of how different this time is.

There is a suitcase in the floor with her clothes and dresses neatly packed. There are white and silver packages grouped together in a corner. There are two velvet boxes sitting onto the mantle and my breath catches as I realize those would be wedding rings. I turn back to Rayna. Her body twists as she sits on the couch and I can make out a small area of her stomach poking out. This is really happening.

I say her name but she won't look at me. Instead she brings her legs up to rest beside of her and fiddles with the diamond ring on her hand. It catches the light and blinds me for a second. It is big.

In a tired voice she says my name and then she ask what I am doing here.

I can see the ring on her finger, I can see wedding presents on the floor. I have the damn invitation in my back pocket. But I need to ask.

"Are you marrying him?" I say as loudly as I can manage but the words break in my throat so I try again. This time I actually get the words out.

Her eyes follow a path across the floor. She says a weak "yes. On Friday." and meets my gaze.

We look at each other for a long moment and I feel like I'm falling off a cliff. I pull my eyes away from her and stare at my boots. The silence between us last for a long time but I don't look at her and I don't feel her eyes on me.

Her voice sounds stronger when she speaks again. "What are you doing here?"

I rub a hand across my jaw. I say the easiest truth I have, "Got out of rehab. Ten weeks sober."

She tells me she me that she is proud of me a voice that is full of sincerity and honesty. But in her voice, there is a lack of excitement about my accomplishment. Truth is, I can barely get excited over my own sobriety. We've been down this road before.

44 days sober is one night away from blowing it all to hell.

Ray continues to stare at the floor, and the wall, and any place but where I'm standing. She says she spoke to Coleman while I was gone. Cole told her it was a three month program and she didn't expect me back in town for a few more weeks.

"I did two months at the main place and was planning to do another month in the half-way house. But I needed to see you."

Silence fills the air again. It's so quiet; I hear the buzz of the fridge and a moment later hear the air conditioning kick on.

I'm looking at her now, watching her. She looks like a scared little girl. Her arms are wrapped around his chest and her eyes look everywhere but in my direction.

I knew the answer to my next question but ask it anyways. I ask Rayna if she's pregnant. She whimpers back another "yes."

(***)

I tell Deacon I need ten minutes and excuse myself without glancing back. I breeze into my bedroom and walk past the shoes I've bought for the wedding. The alarm clock blinks 1:09 as I head for the bathroom. I close the bathroom door and lean against it for a second. I don't know why but I walk over to the bathtub, pull back the shower curtain and step inside the porcelain circle.

I sit down carefully. My legs are wobbly and my hands are shaking. He hasn't asked me outright if he is baby's father but it is just a matter of time. He's already asked how far I am along and whether I know if it is a boy or a girl. He's only asked those questions to build up his nerve to ask if he's the father.

I just need a minute to gather my thoughts and be alone. I need distance from Deacon and if the length of the bedroom and the closed bathroom door wasn't enough, I pull the shower curtain around to cocoon me.

He's sober now or I suppose I should say sober again.

I need to figure out which answer I need to give him. My mind zips in twenty different directions, each with a different scenario.

I could flat out deny that he being the father is even possible. Deacon didn't know I had gotten off birth control as a way to discourage myself from falling back into his arms. He doesn't know Teddy and I always used condoms. He doesn't remember some drunken night with sloppy kisses and rough touches on the washing machine. He also doesn't remember the night a week later when I showed up at his place. I don't know which is better, having your child conceived on a washing machine or against the door in your father's bedroom. Either way, that detail isn't going in the baby book. But he could always demand a DNA test or perhaps the child will pop out with Deacon's dimples and a guitar strap. There be no denying his paternity then.

I could tell Deacon that he might be the father. Perhaps he would spend the next five months in bars telling drunken sailors and teenage boys with fake IDs that he was praying the DNA test would come back negative. Maybe he'd blame me for forcing him to the father.

There is always a possibility that the baby is Teddy's. It's just not likely. What if Deacon wants the baby and I end up devastating him when the test comes back? He's fallen off the wagon because we got into a fight about a chord. One chord sent him over the edge, a child's paternity would be a catastrophe. I shake my head as I feel the tears spill out.

Deacon's never wanted children. Deacon has too many bad memories of his own childhood and sees children as a handicap. Young children on the road were impractical at best and realistically they were impossible. Children hindered the ability to stay out all night or take a road trip for a few days just because the urge hit him.

He used to make faces when guys in the band would talk about their families. They would tell stories of having sex once a month, diaper rash, breast feeding, and car seats. "Just wait 'til it's your turn," they'd joke and he would laugh back a "no way in hell."

But it isn't just him. We're both selfish about the other's time. That is why I've never pressed the issue of children, I've never known if I really wanted to add someone else to our relationship. I've been Deacon's first, second, and third priority and he's always been mine too.

A child changes that. It has already changed that.

That is why I need to calm down and think this through. Teddy and I are getting married in forty-eight hours. I've got the dress back from the seamstress. It is hardly the wedding dress I envisioned. Certainty the empire waistline to hide my stomach wasn't what I anticipated wearing. But still, my wedding dress is here. The flowers are probably already at the florist. The wedding cake is probably already in the freezer. The bird seed is already wrapped up and in a basket. Our plane tickets for our honeymoon are on my nightstand.

I nod as recall all the reasons I am doing this.

Teddy is stable. He loves this baby regardless of who the father is. When I told that Deacon and I had sex while we were dating, he was hurt. But Teddy didn't punch the wall or break a lamp. He didn't threaten to kill Deacon or half of the country. That certainly would have been Deacon's response.

And that leads me to another thought: Deacon's temper . It has always been bad. I've jumped out of the way at flying lamps and beer bottles. I've known better than to run after him when he jumps into his car before I can grab the keys. I've had my fair of sore shoulders from trying to break up a fight between Deacon and some nameless guy.

A child is different. A child wouldn't think anything of running after their father in the driveway. A child wouldn't to duck out of the way when their father throws a beer bottle. Deacon has driven drunk more times than I care to think about. What if he drove with the baby? What if there was a wreck like with Vince?

That thought terrifies me.

Deacon would never intentionally hurt me or a kid. But flesh rips and bruises form whether the act was intentional or just some drunken mistake.

I pull my knees up to my forehead, still hiding behind the shower curtain. I realize it's been much longer than the ten minutes I asked for. The tears come harder now and my lungs heave trying to find oxygen. I don't hear him open the door. But I do see the shower curtain move slightly. I realize he's sitting on the bathroom floor and despite the curtain between us, I can feel the heat of his body.

I see his hand peak through the fabric and yet still we don't say anything. He offers torn toilet paper as substitute for a Kleenex. I take it and wipe away my tears. I sniffle and blow my nose a few times. His hand comes back and gives me more toilet paper. He stays quiet while I work on calming myself down.

I tell him to go ahead and ask and he does.

"Am I the father?"

Instead of answering the question, I ask one of my one. "Do you want to be?"

I hear nothing for a moment, and then the shower curtain gets pulled back. We are face to face now. He whispers an "I think so" to my question.

I bit my lip and nod before answering his questions with the same, "I think so too."

I cry harder and he breathes deeper. Eventually, Deacon reaches for my hand and I clasp it like a life line. We stay like that for a few moments. I stretch out again in the tub and focus on my toe nail polish. I glance at him and his eyes are focused on my stomach. We don't say anything; we are both trying to let our minds catch up.

Eventually I take our joined hands and bring them closer to my body. His eyes follow my hand motions as I place his hand over my stomach. His eyes widened but the rest of his face stays still as he fingers spread wide over my skin.

We spend the next twenty minutes like this. I'm fully dressed in the bathtub and he is cramped between the toilet and the side of the tub. The palm of his hand never moved from my abdomen but his finger stroked and swirled and moved over my t-shirt. It was like he was trying to memorize the shape of my stomach.

Eventually I offer an answer to a question he doesn't ask.

"I think it was on top of the washing machine."

He laughs out loud. It is a sound I haven't heard in so long. In the last eighteen months I've heard Deacon laugh in that bitter, sarcastic way that makes me want to scream. This laugh though, is my Deacon's laugh. It's light and airy. It is laughter born out of happiness and amusement.

I raise an eyebrow and he suggests the name "Kenmore Whirlpool Claybourne."

Then my heart sinks and suddenly the fog that Deacon always cast in my brain clears. I'm fourty-eight hours away from being a Conrad, not a Claybourne.

I wipe my eyes even though my tears are already dried. I awkwardly pull myself away from Deacon and stand up in the tub.

"You need to go," I insist and I can tell he's surprised. So I tell him he needs to go again. Deacon stands up too and follows me out of the bathroom. He calls my name several times before I turn around.

(**)

I groan as I'm awaked by the shrill sound of the phone ringing. I didn't bother to take off my ring from last night and blink several times before I realize it is a few minutes before 7 am.

I answer with a little trepidation. It is Rayna and I can tell by the few words she spits out at me that she's angry. In the fewest words possible she lets me know that I'm not welcome at the wedding nor am I welcome in her life anymore.

The phone goes dead and the loud beeping of the dial tone fills my ear.