Rayna
She sat at the sound board with Randy, watching Deacon and her band lay down the music tracks for her next album. They were in Nashville for ten days before they headed out to open for the summer leg of Alan Jackson's tour, and Randy wanted to get at least a couple more songs completed. They were running a little behind due to the six week headlining tour she'd gotten through the Southeast and Mid-Atlantic regions. It had been her first headlining tour and she'd been pleased at how successful it had been. She'd done twenty shows and sold them all out. They were mid-sized venues, so not quite where she wanted to be one day, but it was a great start and the label had been happy. Now that Edgehill Records had merged with Republic Nashville, she was poised to really take off.
Bucky stopped by album rehearsal and was practically giddy, she thought. "Hey there, Buck," she said, looking down at him from the stage. She couldn't help but smile at the look on his face. "You look like you've got some big news."
He grinned. Rayna had often said she didn't know what she'd do without Bucky. Next to Deacon, Bucky was her biggest supporter. When Watty had introduced Bucky to her and recommended she hire him as her manager, she had agreed immediately. Bucky had great instincts and a tremendous knowledge of the music business. She trusted him completely, right from the start. He'd become like a sage older brother to her and she valued his friendship and his guidance. "I've got big news, Rayna," he said. "I just heard from Dan and they want to put you on a headlining tour."
She was stunned. "Me?" she squeaked out.
Bucky nodded. "Twenty dates. Up to five thousand seat venues."
She gasped. Before she had a chance to say anything, Deacon had grabbed her up in his arms. "Baby, you did it!" he cried.
She had her hands over her mouth and she turned to look at him. He had a huge smile on his face. "Oh, my God," she breathed.
It had been exhausting, but exhilarating. The response from the crowds had been amazing and she'd gotten rave reviews. She knew it was just the beginning for her and she was so grateful to everyone who'd believed in her and helped her along the way. She would still be going out on bigger artists' tours, but she knew that now it was only a matter of time before she'd get one of those big tours of her own.
One of the positives about the back-to-back tours had been that it had kept them busy. Deacon was still struggling to stay sober, but staying busy – and being together – helped. As she watched him, she was, again, blown away by his talent. She sat back in her chair and thought about that part of their lives together. Writing together, his touch when it came to the music, it was heaven. It was magic. She remembered how reluctant she'd been, back in the beginning, to listen to his suggestions about her writing. But when she had finally let him in, a whole new world had opened up for her.
Every time they performed 'Already Gone', she thought about the struggle she'd had with letting him see her lyrics and her angry refusal to let him tinker with her words. But he had eventually won her over – wore her down, she'd said back then – and she was able to see that he'd added something special. The songs they'd written together had turned into some of her most popular and most successful songs. And her own songs had gotten better, because she listened to what he said.
They had a magical partnership, both in life and on stage. Even though she often felt exhausted from trying to balance keeping watch over him with not appearing to hover, she couldn't imagine a life without him. And so, when occasionally he would slip, she would mostly overlook it. He was always so remorseful afterwards, and she had to admit that it usually ended with some of the most tender lovemaking, the kind that took her breath away with its sweetness. She loved him more every day and, in her mind, if that meant being ever-vigilant about keeping his life level, it was a small price to pay for all the rest of what she gained.
Deacon
He was sitting at the outdoor bar. The sun had almost disappeared on the horizon. He was on his second whiskey, but he was using every bit of his self-control to sip it instead of take it down in one long swallow, the way he wanted to. He wasn't trying to kid himself that he could drink in moderation, but he had promised Rayna he wouldn't get drunk, that he would cut himself off at two drinks, three max, if he really had to have something. He'd mostly been successful at that. He was able to go long stretches without a drink. As long as he didn't hang out with Vince, he was able to keep his drinking to a minimum when he did.
He'd talked her into this quick jaunt over the border to Mexico. They'd found a little seaside motel that was dirt cheap. They were only staying two nights, which was a good thing, since there wasn't much to do other than drink and sun on the beach. They'd walked along the edge of the Pacific when they arrived. She looked so pretty, the sun warming her skin, the breeze lifting her hair around her face. They held hands as they walked, letting their feet get wet in the ocean. He would stop periodically and kiss her, letting his hands skim her hips and reach down to cup her ass, pressing her against him. She would laugh softly, winding her arms around his neck and letting her fingers tangle up in the hair on the nape of his neck. Her mouth tasted so sweet and her skin was so soft against his and her curves fit against his edges so perfectly.
He breathed in sharply and took another sip of the whiskey. He looked around and frowned just a bit. Where is she? And then finally, he saw her. She was wearing that white sundress he liked, the one that showed off her cleavage. She'd piled her hair up on top of her head, letting little wisps dance around her ears and neck in that sexy way he liked. She was smiling and every head in the bar turned to look at her. She nodded at people as she made her way towards him. She looked so incredibly sexy and he couldn't help but feel proud that she was his. That no matter who else looked at her, that he was the one who got to take her to bed, who got to kiss her mouth and touch her skin and be inside her.
When she got to where he was sitting, she laid her clutch bag on the bar and stepped just to where his knees where. She put one hand on his leg, sliding it up almost to the top of his thigh. Her lips were curved in a tiny smile, her eyes dark. "Hey, there," she said, her voice low and smooth as caramel. She reached for his glass and lifted it to her lips, making a show of it, and took a sip. Then she set the glass back down and ran her tongue over her lips. He drew in a sharp breath.
"What took you so long?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She shrugged, a lazy movement. She looked away for a second, then back. "I had to take care of something," she said. "You know how that is." She raised an eyebrow. "You've been waiting for me?"
He looked at her. "I knew you'd come."
She took a step forward and leaned into his ear. "You think you know me?"
He grabbed her wrist and smirked. "I know you better than you know yourself," he growled.
She laughed softly. "You think you know me. But you don't know everything."
He raised his eyebrows. "You'll have to show me then."
She smiled. "Maybe later. First, buy me a drink." She turned towards the bar, leaning provocatively against it. He let his index finger lightly slide up her leg. She turned to him. "Drink first."
He ordered her a drink and kept sipping his. She tipped the glass up and let the whiskey slide down her throat. He raised an eyebrow at her, then ordered her another. When she'd finished the second, he leaned over. "Had enough?" he whispered.
She looked at him and breathed in. "You're just too handsome for your own good," she said, taking his hand. She picked up her purse and then led him out of the bar. When they got to the room, she pulled the key out of her purse. He slid his hand up the back of her thigh and under her dress, which is when he discovered she wasn't wearing panties.
He pressed her against the door and leaned into her neck. "You are a very bad girl," he growled. He slid his fingers between her legs and inside her and she gasped. She started to moan softly and he whispered, "Open the door, Ray." She arched her back slightly, pressing her hands against the door, and made a little noise. He pressed more firmly against her. "Open the door."
"Oh, God," she murmured, fumbling with the key. Finally she was able to get it in the door and he let her go, as she stumbled into the room in front of him. When he shut the door behind him, she turned and grabbed his belt and started working on unfastening it.
He grinned at her. "You are a very, very bad girl," he said, as he unbuttoned his shirt. "But this is gonna be a very good song."
Watty
He stood on the side stage in Memphis, watching Rayna's show. He smiled as she finished up an up-tempo version of 'Already Gone'. He liked how it sounded and thought again that Deacon was a master arranger. His smile faded then and he put one arm around his waist and lifted the other hand to his mouth, as he watched the two of them on stage. Deacon looked okay to him, but he knew, based on the little bit that Rayna had told him, appearances could be deceiving where Deacon was concerned.
He thought back to when he'd put the two of them together. He'd seen Deacon perform at an open mic and thought he was an outstanding guitar player. He was, in Watty's opinion, an average singer, but his songs had something special about them. Deacon was young, but the visual imagery he could evoke in his lyrics spoke of someone much older, with a lot more life lived. When he learned more about Deacon's background, he understood. Some of the most beautiful lyrics could come from the darkest places and the toughest pain.
Rayna needed someone like Deacon, professionally, to fill in the places where she needed help. He'd been surprised when he saw her at an open mic, not knowing that Virginia's daughter was interested in music. He knew Virginia filled her life with music and that she had encouraged both her daughters to love it too. But until he saw her daughter up on stage, he hadn't known she'd been able to pass that on.
Watching Rayna on the stage made him think about Virginia. She'd been gone almost thirteen years. Rayna had just turned twelve, he remembered. Virginia had stayed in Nashville long enough for that. I can't stay here anymore, Watty, I just can't. But I can't have my baby girl sad on her birthday. He breathed in. He missed her. There had never been anyone else quite like Virginia Jaymes Wyatt. He'd been waiting for her, in that hotel in Knoxville where she was supposed to meet him, but she had never arrived. He had thought she'd decided she couldn't leave her girls after all. And then he'd heard about the car accident. He breathed in sharply. His pain was still close to his heart.
Rayna had something special, though. He'd seen it that night at the open mic and he still saw it. She had learned to be a better songwriter on her own and the songs she wrote with Deacon were amazing. The two of them together, musically, were magic. He saw it every time he watched them perform. But there were times when he felt like he'd set in motion something painful and heartbreaking between the two of them. That they loved each other – deeply – was obvious. But Deacon had demons, dark demons, some of which Watty thought had still not surfaced, that he was afraid would drag Rayna down as well.
He could see it in her eyes. There was a weariness there sometimes. She had gotten good at covering that up these days. She could put on a smile that would fool anyone. When Deacon wasn't drinking, life was good. But when he was – and Watty knew he'd started down that path again – he was a risk. He could see Rayna's struggle, had seen it from the very first time he'd told her Deacon was an alcoholic. He had watched, every time Deacon fell, how it chipped away at Rayna, wore her down a little more. Watty felt an obligation to Virginia's memory to keep an eye out for her daughter, to look out for her, even though Rayna knew nothing of his relationship with her mother.
He watched. And vowed to be there for her.
Rayna
Rayna didn't know what set it off. Deacon had a hard time articulating it. It started with nightmares, the same kind he'd had off and on for as long as she'd known him. All he could seem to tell her was that he felt like he was in a strait jacket, that he felt overwhelmed, and that he felt like she was always watching him. He drank more when they were out on Alan Jackson's tour. She'd lost count of the number of times he was drunk at sound check and the times he'd messed up on stage. They were fighting constantly, it felt like. The good times felt few and far between.
The last night they were on tour, he disappeared after sound check. She was frantic, not even knowing where to look for him. When he showed up, fifteen minutes before they were to go on stage, she could see he'd been drinking. She could smell the alcohol wafting off of him. She turned to him and frowned. "Where were you?" she asked.
He shrugged. "With one of the crew," he said, slurring his words slightly.
"Deacon, you know we're going on stage. How could you do this?" She was furious.
He glared at her. "I'm fine, Rayna," he said, slowly enunciating each word. "Don't worry."
"But I do worry," she said.
He leaned in close, a sneer on his face. "Don't," he repeated.
She couldn't argue with him this close to show time, so she dropped it. But when they got out on stage, it was clear he was off his game. She could tell the rest of the band was covering for him, as he missed transitions and was off-key several times. She could hear that his harmonizing vocals were a mess. He came in late or couldn't sing the words. She gestured to her sound man off-stage to cut off his mic. And then she dropped 'No One Will Ever Love You' at the end of the set, meaning they walked off stage nearly five minutes early.
She was both embarrassed and angry. It was unprofessional to walk off the stage early, but she had no alternative. She felt Deacon's hand on her shoulder, his hand squeezing her painfully. "What the hell was that? Why'd you cut it off?" he sputtered, as she shook him off. She held up a finger, having no intention of having this argument in the tunnel. "Damn it, Ray," he kept on.
She finally stopped and whirled around, her eyes flashing with fury. "Damn it, Deacon, you were drunk out on that stage. You missed your cues, you messed up the music, you couldn't even remember the damn words to the songs. Our songs. The ones we wrote. You embarrassed me out there." There were tears in her eyes and she turned away from him, continuing on down the hall to her dressing room.
"Rayna!" he called after her. "Rayna!" She kept walking, tears rolling down her cheeks. She got to her dressing room and walked in, with him right on her heels. He slammed the door, then walked up to her and grabbed her arm. "You turned me off!" he shouted, scowling at her.
"Yes, I did," she retorted, pulling away from him. She threw her arms out to the side in frustration. "I can't do this, Deacon! I can't have you stand up there on stage and mess up!"
He stood there fuming. Then he walked over and picked up a glass and hurled it at the wall. When it shattered, she jumped. He turned back towards her. "I'm tired of you watching me every minute!" he shouted. "Like I'm a damn dog!"
"I do not watch you every minute!" she shouted back. "But you know better than to come on stage drunk. You know every time we get out there, people are watching us. And I can't have my bandleader putting us at risk!" As much as she didn't want to, she started to cry. "I can't keep doing this, Deacon," she said. "This is all so important. For both of us. I don't understand how you can't at least remember that." She breathed in. "I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, you know? Any of this," she said quietly. She looked at him sadly. "I'm going back to the hotel. If you're not on the bus in the morning, we're leaving without you." She turned and walked out of the dressing room.
She heard him come in. She hadn't been able to sleep, so she was still awake. When she heard his footsteps come through the bedroom door, she closed her eyes. She could sense that he was walking around to her side of the bed and then she smelled the stale whiskey as he kneeled down beside her. He reached his hand out and laid it on her arm. "Rayna, I'm sorry," he said. "So sorry. Please forgive me. I love you, baby."
She felt a lump in her throat. She knew he was sorry. He was always sorry, genuinely sorry. But this had gone on for too many years. And the drinking was getting worse again. He'd gone to rehab twice and, the way things were going, it looked like he might be heading for a third. She hated seeing him like this, didn't know what to do anymore.
"Please, baby," he pleaded. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him. He tried to smile. "I promise I won't never do it again," he said. "I love you, baby."
She just looked at him and sighed. "You always say that, Deacon," she said, finally. "But you just do it again anyway. What will it take for you to stop? For good?"
She could see the tears in his eyes. "I promise I'll work hard," he said. "I don't know why I do it. I just need to stop."
She squeezed her eyes as the tears came. "I love you so much, Deacon," she whispered. "Why isn't that enough?"
"It is, baby," he said.
She rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. "But it's not. If it was, you'd stop doing it." She sighed. "I'm exhausted, Deacon. I can't do this anymore tonight."
She closed herself up in her suite on the bus the next day. She could hear Deacon out in the front of the bus, but he didn't try to come in. When they got back to Nashville and headed for the truck, he reached for her hand. She looked at him. "I really am sorry, baby," he said. "Please believe me."
She stopped. "I do believe you, Deacon," she said wearily. "That's not the problem. I don't think you mean to do this. Or that you even want to, really. But you do it anyway. And you've gotta figure out why and how to stop doing it. Or it's going to tear us apart. It's going to destroy us." Then she disengaged her hand and walked the rest of the way to the truck, leaving him to follow behind her.
It was the first time she truly wondered if they could do this for the long haul. Or if she could. Is this really how I want to live the rest of my life?
Bucky
Bucky had started keeping a list of lead guitar players. Just in case. Rayna had never said she wanted anyone other than Deacon, but one of these days he was afraid she would run out of patience with her husband. Or the next time he had to go to rehab – and Bucky was confident there would be a next time – it might not be at a convenient time.
He never mentioned the list to Rayna, but he kept it all the same. It was his job to take care of her, professionally, and he could feel that cold wind coming.
Deacon
They had fallen asleep in front of the fire at the cabin. Rayna was burrowed deep under the blanket and, as usual, he barely had enough to cover himself. He smiled as he gazed at the very top of her red-haired head, the only thing he could see. He slid one hand under the blanket and ran it up her abdomen. She shrieked and jerked away from him, pulling most of the blanket with her.
"Your hands are freezing, babe!" she cried.
He laughed. "And now you have all the covers." He rolled towards her, pulling her close. The fire was down to embers and the room had cooled off. "You need to share," he whispered into her ear.
She looked back at him, over her shoulder. "I think you need to build the fire back up," she said.
He raised his eyebrows. "Me?"
She giggled. "It sure won't be me, babe," she said.
He shook his head, but he reached for his jeans and shirt and slid them on, chuckling to himself. It was still warm in Nashville, but by the lake, it always seemed cooler somehow. He had spent time the day before, after they'd driven to the cabin, chopping wood, so there was plenty to bring in. After he'd filled up the firewood rack, he'd added several logs to the fireplace and then gotten the fire going again. He turned around to see Rayna sitting on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket. He sat down next to her.
"Now you got your fire," he said.
She smiled, a little wistfully. "Thanks, babe." She leaned her head back on the couch. "I think it was good for us to come up here."
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs. "Yeah, I think so too."
She sighed and he turned to look at her. "We've gotta get this right, Deacon," she said. "I'm really worried about us right now."
He looked back towards the fire. He knew coming up here and spending the night in each other's arms didn't fix everything that was wrong, but it hurt to hear her sound so uncertain about their future. He rubbed his face with his hands, then turned back to face her. "I love you, baby," he said. "I wanna do whatever I got to do to prove that to you."
She frowned a little. "Deacon, I don't doubt you love me," she said. "That's not our problem. It's a lot more than just that." She took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sitting here with just a blanket on and that doesn't feel like the right, I don't know, outfit for a discussion. So I'm gonna take a shower and get dressed and then we can talk."
He nodded and watched her get up. She headed for the bedroom and his eyes followed her. He got up and went into the kitchen and got coffee started. Then he walked back out and picked her clothes up and the rest of his and went to the bedroom. He could hear the shower running. He stood there for a second, then shrugged and undressed. Sex wasn't going to fix everything, but it was one of the ways they talked to each other and he felt like they both needed to remind themselves that, underneath all the pain, there was still love.
When he joined her, she didn't say anything, just turned to face him. Water was running over her head and down her back and her eyes were filled with sorrow and hurt. But she took a step towards him and took him in her arms and let him love her.
When she walked out of the bedroom, he poured her a mug of coffee and then walked over to hand it to her. She gave him a small smile. "Thanks, babe," she said.
"I can make breakfast," he said.
She seemed to consider it, then shook her head. "I'm not really hungry right now. Maybe later?" He just nodded. She walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling one leg up underneath her. He walked over and sat down next to her. She held her mug in both hands and took a sip, then looked at him carefully. "I'm worried about you, Deacon. And I'm worried about us."
He frowned. "Us?"
She nodded. "You have to know this impacts both of us. Because I'm the one making sure you're okay. I'm the one who brings you home or goes looking for you."
He sighed. "I'm sorry, baby, you know that. And I'll do better." Even he knew that was more than likely a hollow promise. He couldn't even begin to tell her why he felt like he needed the whiskey, but he did. It made things easier. It took away the pain, the memories, the things he didn't want to remember.
She looked down. She set her mug on the coffee table and then took his hands in hers, looking back at him. "But you don't. You say you will, but then we're back where we started. Or actually, it's worse than ever. Babe, don't you even realize that things are worse now than they were in the beginning? I can't control you anymore. All I can do is pray and try to be one step behind you."
He tried to pull his hands away, but she kept hold of him tightly. "If it's so hard, why don't you just walk away like you said you was gonna do, Ray?" he asked, angrily.
Her eyes filled with tears. "I love you, Deacon. I don't want to leave you," she said. "But you're an alcoholic…."
He scowled at her. "Stop calling me that!" he said angrily. "I know I got a problem. I know I'm a drunk sometimes, but I can stop. You know I can stop. If I was an alcoholic, I couldn't stop."
She shook her head. "That's not true, Deacon. You know that."
He clenched his jaw and looked away. "Then what am I supposed to do, Rayna?" he asked. "Since you're in charge."
"I'm not in charge, Deacon," she said, angrily. "I'm not at all in charge. This is on you! But if you don't figure it out, it's gonna destroy us."
He looked at her and frowned. "What does that mean?"
She looked down and shrugged. "I don't know." She looked back at him. "It could mean we don't make it. Because I can't keep living like this."
He huffed and then he got up from the couch. He walked over to the kitchen and banged his hand on the island. "You think I wanna live like this, Rayna? You think I wanna keep hurting you? Or hear you threaten to leave me?"
"No, I don't think you want any of that. That's what makes this so hard, Deacon. But you can't keep giving in. Something has to change!"
"And what is that something?" he shouted.
"I don't know!" she shouted back and then she burst into tears.
He watched her for a moment, but he hated to see her cry and he walked over and sat next to her, taking her in his arms. "Baby, I wanna do whatever I have to do," he said.
She grabbed his shirt. "I know you do, but I'm just so scared, Deacon," she said, still crying. "I'm afraid if you don't figure this out that it's gonna destroy us. Or it's gonna kill you."
He breathed in and then he leaned his forehead against hers and he could feel tears in his own eyes. "I don't wanna lose you, Ray. I will do whatever I have to. I promise. I don't want you to leave me."
And so he promised, once again, meaning it, wanting to do it, hoping this would be the time he could make it work. Because the thought of living without her felt like a death sentence.
Rayna
She'd been cautiously optimistic. After the weekend at the cabin, Deacon seemed committed, ready to stay the course. He'd backed away from even occasional drinking, much to her relief, and he went to meetings every day. They were back in rehearsal and in the studio and it felt good. She started to relax.
She was up early, since Deacon was going to an early meeting. They had studio time booked mid-day to work on the album. As always, it seemed like they were still hunting for songs and they'd hit a little bit of a roadblock on writing. She was wiping down the counters in the kitchen when the phone rang.
"Hello?" she said, when she picked up the phone.
"Hey, baby!" Deacon sounded excited. She always got the tiniest bit of queasiness when he was excited, as that had often meant, in the past, that he'd been drinking. But she pushed that feeling down. "Guess what?"
She forced a smile on her face. "What?" Deacon had finally relented and gotten a cell phone. He'd resisted for several years, saying he had no need for 'fancy technology'. But she'd begged, especially since she wanted to make sure she could reach him if she needed to and he had reluctantly gotten one.
"They want us to come play tonight at the Bluebird," he said.
She frowned. "How did that happen?"
He sighed and she could hear the irritation. "Cole and I stopped at the diner cross the street and Amy is here. She asked." His voice was brittle and she instantly felt bad.
"Well, that sounds amazing," she said, trying to recover.
"So, do we have your permission to do it?" He sounded angry.
"Of course, babe. It's been a long time since we've done the Bluebird."
"Okay then." And he hung up, startling her with the abruptness.
She slowly put the phone down and leaned back against the counter. She felt tears pricking her eyes as she realized he could tell she was suspicious. She hated being that way, especially now that he seemed to be working so hard. She wanted to be encouraging, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. She put her hands on her hips and started to pace, breathing in and out, trying not to break down.
They were driving from the studio to the Bluebird, where they were going on at six. Deacon had been cordial ever since he got home, but the tension was high. Every time she said something, she felt like all she was getting were one or two word answers. And, although it annoyed her, she was trying to stay calm. But she finally was at a breaking point.
"Are we going to talk at all?" she asked, turning in her seat to face him.
He glanced over at her, his eyebrows raised. "We been talking," he said, his voice deceptively neutral.
"No, we haven't," she said, frowning. "I get that I made you mad on the phone this morning, and I didn't mean to, but you're gonna hold it over my head all damn day long? Is that how we're doing this?"
He looked at her and scowled. "I don't know, Rayna. Is it?" He huffed. "'Cause I feel like you don't trust me to do nothing on my own. Like you think I'm gonna mess up every time I walk out the door."
"That's not true," she protested, although she knew it wasn't completely the case.
He shook his head and sighed. A long moment went by before he spoke. "Look, I know I disappointed you. A hundred times. Probably more. I deserve it." He turned to look at her and she could see immense sadness in his eyes. "I wanna be the man you need, Ray. I wanna live up to all your expectations, but sometimes, you know, sometimes, it's a lot to live up to. You're so strong and you got everything together and I'm a mess. I know that."
"Deacon," she said, putting her hand on his arm and interrupting him. "You are the man I need. I love you. You're the love of my life. You have been since I was sixteen years old. You took me in when I had nowhere else to go and you took care of me. You still do. I need you, babe. You know that." She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. "I'm sorry if I make you feel like I don't trust you. That's the absolute last thing I want to do."
He breathed in. "I just wanna do right by you, Ray," he said. "I don't wanna be the guy who disappoints you. I'm just trying not to screw up so bad I lose you." He cleared his throat. "You know, when I was at rehab, I used to think I heard you walking down the hall. Almost every night. I dreamed about you every night. And it was always me standing there knowing I'd screwed up, wanting you to forgive me."
She had tears in her eyes. "Oh, babe," she said, reaching for his hand. "We've had hard times, there's no denying that. But, in the end, this is where I always wanted to be." She sighed. "I don't want us to fight. I just want us to be able to give into it, you know, what was always meant to be." She was still for a moment, then dropped his hand, reaching for her notebook in her purse.
"You got something?" he asked. She waved him off, not wanting to let the words in her head escape before she could jot them down. She wrote for several minutes and then she breathed out, letting her shoulders relax. She turned to him and he was smiling. "You got that last song, don't you?"
She smiled and nodded. "The framework, I think, yeah. We can finish it tonight."
"Can you tell me some of it?"
She looked down at the notebook. "I think this is the chorus. 'We're all we've been missing, if we could just stop resisting, and give in to what's supposed to be. I'll surrender to you, if you surrender to me'." She looked back at him. "What do you think?"
He smiled. "I like it."
"I've got a little more, but just some of what you said. We'll have to flesh it out later."
He sighed. "Makes me wish we were going straight home."
She smiled at him. "I know. But we'll get it."
He was leaning against the headboard of the bed, with his guitar, and he let his fingers run down the strings as the song ended. She was sitting next to him, the sheet pulled up under her arms, the notebook in her hand, smiling. He grinned at her. "Oh, babe, that was great," she said.
"It did turn out good, didn't it?" he said.
She nodded. She dropped the notebook on the bed and then rose up on her knees, the sheet falling off of her. She reached for his guitar and then leaned over him to set it against the bedside table. She knew he was looking at her and not the guitar and she heard him hitch his breath. She folded her legs under her as she sat back, facing him. She smiled a little shyly and he sat forward, putting his hands on the mattress as he leaned towards her.
He kissed her on the lips, letting his lips linger against hers for a moment. Then he let his tongue trace the outline of her mouth, as he stared deep into her eyes. She heard herself let out a soft moan. As her mouth dropped open slightly, he let his tongue slide between her lips. He put his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer, his tongue chasing hers and she sighed again. Then he leaned closer to her, continuing his lazy kisses. She felt a shiver go up her spine and tingles of anticipation between her legs. Finally he pushed her back and then hovered over her, propping himself on his hands and knees. "This is my favorite part, though," he whispered.
She smiled. "Mine too," she said, as she lifted her arms and laid her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down to her.
Deacon
He thought if they ever stopped writing songs together, it would be the end of them. It was only one of the many things he loved about her, but something about the creative process, digging deep inside and putting something out there that reflected their shared words and music and vision, was intoxicating. It was actually better than drinking, better than the feeling he had when that first glass of whiskey rolled down his throat, warming him up from his tongue all the way to his stomach. Rayna Jaymes filled him up in a completely different way, as she invaded all his nooks and crannies, all the spaces inside him. She inhabited his heart and his mind, and her skin became one with his, and then when he finally entered her, it was as though that were the very last piece of a very intimate puzzle, the one where he and she fit absolutely perfectly together. He knew, instinctively, that he would never have this with another woman. If he had to, he might find something close one day, but it would never be this.
She was beautiful, that mix of woman and child, with her creamy skin and freckled face. She had that gorgeous, throaty, full laugh, filled with joy. Her smile was electric, but it could also be sweetly inviting. She'd grown up a lot in the years he'd known her, but she also still had a naiveté about her that was adorable. She was everything he was not and yet she loved him anyway.
As she sat in front of him, her lush breasts just there for the taking, her sweet mouth ready for his, that most intimate place between her legs, where she would take him in with that long, satisfied moan that turned him on almost more than anything else she did, he knew right then that this was everything. She was everything. That she would always be everything.
He prayed for the strength to not disappoint her again.
