Deacon tossed back the whiskey shot with a neat flip of his wrist.
Rayna sipped more cautiously, her eyes watering as the harsh liquid burned its way down her throat, seeming to evaporate from her tongue straight into her brain. She choked and coughed a little, feeling her insides glowing like the fiery forest at sunset. She inhaled deeply, then took another sip and grimaced.
She turned to find him watching her, amused.
"Shut up. I jus' haven't … developed a taste for it … yet."
"That's not such a bad thing, Ray, b'lieve me."
"So …."
"Yeah?"
"I guess this is … not … your first time?"
He chuckled a little, softly.
"Uhhhhhhh …. no."
"Who was she?"
"What, you mean …? Hmmmm … her name was Amy. She was real pretty. Looked a little bit like you, in fact."
"I hate her."
He laughed, pouring himself another shot and pounding it before turning to her and nodding.
"Yup, you probably woulda' hated her, all right."
"How old were you?"
"Ummm … 15, 16, maybe? High school, y'know."
They sat together in silence for a moment. Darkness fell quickly in the country and it was closing in on them now, though the hard-working stove inside the cabin cast a flickering, orange glow across the porch. Rayna tilted her head back and swallowed the rest of her whiskey, marveling at how many stars crowded the sky - and at how much easier the liquor went down as the glass got lighter.
She blinked, realizing that her vision was a little blurry; her hair was hanging long down her back and she was swaying ever so slightly. Deacon reached over and took the glass out of her hand, setting it aside.
She looked at him, wide-eyed and serious, as he slid his right hand down her thigh and simultaneously insinuated his left hand under the lightweight silkiness of her blouse, running his heavily calloused fingers up over the skin of her bare back to her neck, where he began massaging gently.
Rayna took a deep breath, her heartbeat quickening. She had a disconnected feeling that was not altogether unpleasant: One part of her was sitting here next to him, staring into his eyes as he caressed her. And another Rayna was somewhere far away, out in the stars, watching curiously as this moment between them unfolded in slow motion.
After what seemed like forever, the intensity of his gaze overwhelmed her and Rayna dropped her head, closing her eyes and letting every ounce of tension drain out of her, like a sigh. She felt herself go limp and realized that she was moaning softly under his ministrations.
Is this actually happening … are we really going to…?
Rayna turned back toward him and looked him full in the face, staring into his eyes for a long moment. Then she leaned in and kissed him, pressing her mouth against his once, twice, three times. The instant their lips met, a shock wave – like a jolt of electricity – passed through both of them. And she was immediately lost, transported to some dark universe where nothing existed, apart from their bodies and a wellspring of long-suppressed desire.
Their kisses bled together, again and again, until they were no longer distinct, but one, long kiss. Rayna was not watching from the sidelines now, but fully and gloriously in this moment, the taste of him and the smell of his skin enveloping her, her fingers raking through his hair, his arms around her, both hands under her blouse now, fingers roaming over her back.
Deacon swiftly slipped the thin garment over her head and tossed it aside, pushing her down beneath him onto the wooden porch slats, positioning himself over her with his legs twined through hers. His hands traveled to her face and stroked her cheeks and hair as he kissed her, overwhelmed by a full onslaught of the passion he had managed to keep in check since they first met.
She clutched him to her body, her hands moving down over his back and settling on his ass, urging him to come closer.
He was more than halfway to a decent buzz by now, and it occurred to him that he could yank down those black leggings and take her right there, on the porch in the darkness, and she would let him do it. Encourage him, even.
The notion was powerfully sexy; Deacon had been patient with her for ages and he appreciated a quick-and-dirty fuck as much as the next guy.
But he was still sober enough to know that that was not what he wanted for her; not tonight. This was Rayna's party, as far as he was concerned, and he was determined that she would never regret inviting him.
So he pulled himself back and stood up, reaching down for her hands and hauling her up to stand before him. Her hair was wild, her mouth red, the freckled skin of her bare neck and shoulders glowing white against her black bra and the dark sky.
She looked up at him with a face so open and vulnerable, eyes shining with such love and trust, that for a moment he was terrified: Of his weaknesses, of his inability to do anything but make music, of the possibility that he would disappoint her.
How would he ever prove himself worthy of this woman?
She reached her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him again, but he held her back for a moment.
"Ray," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, "I love you. And I am never gonna hurt you, not ever. I promise you that."
"I know. I love you, too, Deacon, so much."
She realized that she'd never said anything truer in all her life.
Rayna did not know exactly what would happen next: Not in the next hour or the next day or the next year or for the rest of their lives. But she knew that she was in Deacon's arms, and that was exactly where she belonged. And she knew she wanted to stay there always...
"Rayna? Rayna!"
Bucky's hand was on her shoulder, shaking her.
"Rayna, buckle up now. We're gettin' ready to land."
The voice close beside her ear jolted Rayna out of her reverie, landing her back in the present with what felt like a physical blow. She looked around, totally disoriented, as the interior of Juliette's plane came back into focus.
She turned and saw Bucky gazing at her, concerned.
She shook her head, as if to clear out the cobwebs, and took a deep breath.
"Wow, I'm sorry. Y'know … I don't know …"
"Where you been, Rayna? Looked like you were way out there somewhere, starin' out that window. I don't think you said a word the entire flight."
"I was jus' … thinkin', I guess."
She looked around again, taking in the back of Juliette's head and the sight of Deacon, eyes closed, ear buds in, feet tapping. Going over Juliette's set, no doubt, making sure he knew the music for tonight.
Rayna checked her phone, unsurprised to find a message from Teddy: "Call me. We need to talk." She sighed, noticing the time, hardly believing she'd been lost in thought for so long. At least zoning out meant she hadn't been tempted to watch Deacon and Juliette the whole flight - though Rayna was willing to bet that Juliette had been watching her, hoping for some reaction.
She determined not to give her any satisfaction on that front.
That little girl is about as mature as the kids in Maddie's class... no - Daphne's.
Rayna looked at Deacon again, lost in his music, a familiar sight. It was going to be strange, she thought with a twist in her gut, watching him up on stage with Juliette tonight.
As if he felt her gaze on him, Deacon opened his eyes and looked at her for a long moment. Then he turned away.
God, what we meant to each other back then... how in hell's name did we lose track of it?
"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Bucky asked, startled by the look of naked anguish on Rayna's face.
Rayna looked down.
"Oh, y'know … the old days, I guess. Been thinkin' about 'em a lot lately, t' be honest with ya."
She smiled then, slightly embarrassed.
"Y'know … you an' the guys were right. Deacon an' I never did manage t' do any writin' at that cabin, much as we always started out with good intentions."
He smiled, sadly.
"Y'all loved each other a lot, Rayna. Ever'body could see that."
"Yep. We sure did."
"An' you were great together. While things were … good."
Rayna raised her eyebrows and sighed, nodding.
"Yeah, while things were good. I jus' wish they woulda been good more often, y'know?"
In the end, she mused, it hadn't mattered that the writing had been forgotten while they'd spent all weekend in that big bed. And in the hammock. And in the tall grass by the pond...
They'd pulled a couple of all-nighters in the studio when they got back and aced the audition, landing twin recording contracts that very day.
And in the long run, what had happened between them on that weekend proved far more significant: It forged a deep devotion that under girded one of the storied artistic partnerships of the '90s, and ignited a passion that would fuel one of country music's legendary, stormy, all-too-public love affairs.
That bond carried Rayna through more than a decade of disappointment, lies and heartbreak. It sent Deacon back to clinics and meetings and treatment centers, year after year, until long after she was the only one who refused to give up on him. In time, he would break his promise to her so many times she would lose count; and she would decide that her future belonged to someone else.
And yet here they were, 20 years gone, their hearts still tangled up so deep neither one could imagine truly breaking away.
The cabin steward moved through the passenger compartment one more time, collecting empty Diet Coke cans and snack wrappers, making sure everyone's seat belts were fastened.
The plane dropped down out of the sky and Rayna thought about another reason that cabin was so special: A reason Deacon did not know about, and never could.
On their last visit there, on that final, goddamnit-let's-give-it-one-more-try weekend, when Rayna was so sick of hearing about co-dependency, and enabling, and recovery, that she could scream, when they had driven up to the cabin determined to find themselves again, it became the site of their greatest collaboration ever: Her daughter – their daughter – had been conceived.
The End