I got up from the stone wall and started walking. Eventually I came upon the stone picnic table a little farther down the path where Deacon and I had first started those guitar lessons. I stood and looked at it, picturing him sitting on one side, facing towards me. I sat on the other, doing the same. I walked over and stepped up on the bench, turning to sit on the table top. I smiled to myself. I really was a very bad guitar player. I don't know why I could never really get the hang of it, but I couldn't. I could pick out some chords, but I always sounded like a beginner. And a very bad one, at that.

I had taken years of piano lessons and that was more my forte. It was kind of funny, actually. Deacon tried for the longest time to teach me to play guitar and I never got a whole lot better than I had been in the beginning. One day, though, about a year ago, we splurged on a really cheap music school piano. Deacon wanted me to teach him to play, and damn if he didn't pick it up in about a week. He was definitely a musician, that was clear.

One of my dreams was for him to teach our children to play music. I could picture it in my head, him patiently showing our daughter – I always thought of us as having a daughter first – how to play. Suddenly I felt my emotions wash over me and I got a lump in my throat and tears pricked my eyes. I wondered if this recording contract would tear us apart. Maybe I should just forget about the whole thing.

"Rayna Wyatt. Well, well. I'd pretty much given up on you," Deacon said when I called, a hint of a smile in his voice.

I crossed, then uncrossed my legs. And crossed them back. "Well, you know, I had a lot of schoolwork this week, so…."

"So you want that guitar lesson?" he asked.

"Yeah. If the offer is still good."

"Sure." He paused. "When?"

I shrugged. "Anytime."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure. After school though."

"Right. Where you wanna meet?"

"Um, I don't know."

He didn't say anything for a minute. "Can you drive somewhere?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, there's a park over near here. Shelby Park. By the river. It's a good quiet place. If it's not too far."

I wasn't exactly sure where that was, but I could look it up on a map. It was far enough away from here, I knew, that no one would see me that I knew. "I can do that. Four?"

"I'll see you at four then, Rayna Wyatt."

I hung up the phone, then danced around my bedroom. I was ridiculously excited about seeing him again. And wondering why I had waited so long.

####

That first lesson was almost the last. But it started out okay. I found my way to Shelby Park and was only a few minutes late. Deacon was nice enough not to say anything though and I followed him to a shady area with a picnic table.

"This okay with you?" he asked. I nodded. He set his guitar case on one of the bench seats and opened it, pulling out a guitar that looked like it was better than mine, but still well-used. I was almost embarrassed to pull mine out of the case, although I remembered he'd already seen it. He hopped up on the table top and rested the guitar on his legs. He nodded towards the other end of the table. "You can sit there, across from me, so you can see what I'm doing," he said.

I stepped up carefully, wishing I hadn't worn a skirt to school that day, trying to make sure that I didn't flash him a peek at my panties. When I sat down and looked at him, he had a teasing grin on his face. I felt my face get hot and I looked down at my guitar, lying flat on my lap. "So what are we gonna do?" I asked, feeling a little breathless.

There was the hint of laughter in his voice. "Well, you gotta look at me first, Rayna," he said. "So you can see what my hands are doing."

I sighed deeply and looked up at him. He had a little smile on his face and his eyes were warm and friendly as he looked at me. I tried to smile back, but I was nervous. He still made me feel all tingly inside. I set my guitar on my legs and wrapped one hand under and around the neck and draped the other one over the body, like he was. I laid my fingers on the frets. "Okay, I'm ready," I said.

He positioned his fingers on the frets of his guitar and then ran his thumb over the strings. I felt this little curl of desire unwind inside me at the beautiful sound. "Try that," he said.

I stared hard at where his fingers lay on the frets and then looked at my own hand, trying to imitate him. But when I ran my thumb over the strings, it didn't sound anything like that. I made a frustrated noise. "I can't do that," I said.

"Sure you can," he said. "That's one of the easier chords. Maybe you're pressing down too hard with your fingers."

I glared at him. "I'm not pressing down too hard," I said.

He took a deep breath. "Let's try a different one then," he said finally. He moved his fingers and again, ran his thumb over the strings. God, he was magic on that guitar. Even just hearing him play those two chords, I could tell he was amazing.

I looked at his fingers, then positioned mine. I looked again, just to be sure, then ran my thumb over my strings. Ugh. "Damn!" I said. "Something's not right." I looked up at him and he was smiling just a little. Laughing at me inside, I was sure. I scowled. "You're a terrible teacher, you know that?"

The smile was gone and he frowned, that crease forming between his eyes. I could see his jaw clench. "Maybe you're not such a hot student, you ever think about that?" he asked, irritation in his voice. "I guess when you're a little rich girl, playing at being a country singer, you don't have to work that hard at this." He shrugged. "No wonder Watty thought you needed help."

I couldn't believe I'd had a crush on this, well, this horrible boy. That's all he was – a stupid boy. I awkwardly got off the table with my guitar and then stood there and glared at him. "I don't know why I thought you could help me. If all you're gonna do is insult me, just like everybody else, then I don't need you." I stomped my foot. When I thought about it later, I couldn't believe I'd done that, just like a petulant child. "I am not just a little rich girl playing at this. I am serious about my music, Deacon Claybourne. Just as serious as you are. It doesn't matter where I come from. This matters to me. This is my life. This is my dream! But I can do this without you!"

I put my guitar back in the case and stomped off to my car. I was so mad that I couldn't get the key in the ignition at first and I screamed out in frustration. Finally I got the car started and hit the gas to get out of there as fast as I could. I stole a look at that picnic table, though, as I sped out. Deacon was still sitting there, still holding his guitar, his head bowed.

I don't know why, but when I looked at him, I wanted to cry.

I walked slowly up the steps to the apartment. I felt sick to my stomach. I stood at the door to the apartment and sighed, then inserted my key in the lock. When I opened the door, I heard guitar music that abruptly stopped. Deacon appeared in the bedroom doorway. He had on jeans and no shirt, his hair still rumpled from sleep. He had a lazy smile on his face. I could feel the heat in my core as I looked at him. I love him too much to lie to him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, baby, where you been all this time?" It was late afternoon and I'd been gone since before lunchtime.

I shrugged. "Thinking."

He walked over and put an arm around my waist, pulling me close, then kissing me. "Thinking about what?" he murmured in my ear.

I smiled at him. "You." It was the truth.

He ran his hand down over my ass and pressed against me. "That's my girl," he growled.

I let him kiss my neck, but then I knew I needed to get this news out first. I turned out of his embrace and walked over to the couch, threadbare and tacky looking. If I sign that contract maybe we can have better things. "Not that," I said as I sat on the edge. I patted the cushion next to me. "Come sit."

He frowned, but did so. "What's up?" he asked warily.

"I need to talk to you about something," I said, folding my hands in my lap. "The reason Watty wanted to see me." I looked at him. God, he was so gorgeous. Please don't let him get mad. "So, you know, when we were at that showcase?"

"Yeah."

"Apparently some labels were there, looking for talent." I bit down on my lip.

He raised his eyebrows. "Someone want to sign us?" he asked.

My heart sank. "Me," I said softly. "They want to sign me." He looked puzzled for a moment, then frowned darkly. I reached for his hand. "But you still can play guitar with me and back me up."

He snatched his hand away and got up. He paced for a moment, then stood, with one hand on his hip, the other on the back of neck, and scowled at me. "Did you remind Watty we're a goddamn duo?" he shouted.

I stood up and crossed over to him. "Of course I did," I said, laying a hand on his arm.

He pulled away and stormed into the kitchen. After a moment I followed him. He was pouring whiskey into a glass, downing it in one long swallow. I leaned back against the counter. I tried to remember the things Watty had told me. "Five albums. Tour support. I can choose my band. It's a good deal," I started.

He slammed the glass down, so hard it made me jump. He poured another glass of whiskey. "For you, maybe. But what about me?" He drained the glass, then threw it in the sink. I winced as I heard the glass break. "I thought we were in this together, Ray," he said, his jaw clenched. "But the first label that calls, you go running, is that it?"

I frowned at him. "No, that's not it at all. I had no idea that's what Watty wanted to talk to me about. It was a complete surprise to me." I put my hands on my hips. "But it could be good for both of us, Deacon. If I sign. We can still be together on stage. In the studio. That doesn't change."

He slammed his hand on the counter. "But it's just Rayna Jaymes on the ticket, right? Just Rayna Jaymes on the album cover. It's your career, Ray, not mine!"

I felt a mix of fear and anger. I grabbed his arm with both hands. "Deacon, you can still play guitar with me, still sing with me." I knew I was pleading, but I didn't care.

He shook me off and stormed back into the bedroom. I followed behind him. He went to the dresser and jerked open a drawer, pulling out a t-shirt and slipping it over his head. I put my hand on his back but he whipped around, his face like a thundercloud. "It was supposed to be you and me, Ray," he said angrily, waving two fingers back and forth between the two of us. "That's not what this is gonna be. It'll be you, the star, and me, just somebody that works for you. Your back up, isn't that what you said? That's not what I signed on for." He pushed past me and headed out to the living room, grabbing his wallet and keys off the dresser as he did.

I scrambled after him, trying to take his arm and get him to stop. "That's not true!" I cried. "Please, Deacon, let's talk about it. It wouldn't be that way at all. I promise!" He pulled his arm from my grasp and headed for the door. I followed after him as he ran down the stairs out to the parking lot. He jumped in the truck and started it up, as I ran towards him. "Please, Deacon, don't do this!" I cried out. But he peeled out of the parking lot, leaving me standing there in tears.