Rayna – What if I had told Deacon the truth? What if I had done that and he'd stopped drinking that very day?
Deacon – Maybe if we'd gotten together back then, we'd have thrown each other away by now.
What if both of those things had happened? How might things have been different for the two of them? How much of their story would still be the same? They were so completely connected, so inextricably tied together. Would they have still been able to navigate back to each other? Back to where they had always believed they were destined to be?
This will be more angsty than fluffy, but there will be some lighter moments as well. As always, thanks for reading and for leaving your thoughts.
Rayna
She drove, focusing on the road in front of her. Nothing registered though. All she could think about was the life inside her. The one she hadn't expected. The timing was terrible. It had been a little over 6 weeks since she'd been at the cabin and Deacon had asked her to marry him. They'd been through so many twists and turns during the 11 years they'd been together, but it had seemed that he really was on the right track this time. Finally.
When he had gotten out of rehab the third time, something had finally seemed to click for him. She'd been so proud of him. He'd been sober for more than a year and a half and she had finally felt like they could start to think about a future together. It was what she'd wanted ever since she met him. She always thought that night was the most romantic start to their lives together, one she knew she'd want to tell their children one day. I was at my very first open mic night at the Bluebird and I was just sixteen years old. I was so nervous. My hands were sweating and my stomach hurt and, by the time they called my name, I had a headache. I got through it – God only knows how – and I stumbled on my way down the steps, so I was horribly embarrassed. I remember wanting to cry. Or throw up. Or both. I picked up my purse and walked out and I swore I'd never go back. But I did, and that's when I met your father. He told me he'd been there that first night and he'd seen how nervous I was, but then he told me he'd fallen in love with me that very night and even wrote a song about me, on a napkin. He had wanted to follow me when I left, but they called his name and he went on stage. So I never saw him that night. But when I saw him on stage the night we met I think I fell in love with him inside of five minutes.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she brushed them away, determined to focus. His alcoholism had torn them apart, beaten them down, so many times, but they had persevered. The love and the music were so entwined and it was hard separating him from that. She had known, without a doubt, that she would love him forever, that she would be powerless to stop it. So, in spite of everything, she'd stayed. She'd learned to live with how things were and had learned how to protect him, protect them. But the third time was the one that seemed to be sticking.
She had gone to a few of those Al-Anon meetings while he was in rehab and learned a little more about how to help him and support him, although she told Coleman later that she'd stopped going because people knew who she was. She had moved into her own apartment, hoping that giving him some space would help him get better. She had understood that she needed to give him some recovery room, not let him feel like he was being watched all the time. He had not been a fan of living separately and she had struggled to stand firm, but it had worked. After 6 months, he'd bought a cute little bungalow in East Nashville. He asked her to move in with him, but she didn't, thinking it would be better that way. They seemed to grow closer, though, continuing to tour together, and making music together. Life had felt so good.
They had been on a tour break during July and Deacon wanted to go to the cabin. It wasn't really a cabin, but he'd always called it that. It had looked cabin-y on the inside, with the wood paneled walls and the little potbellied stove in the great room. He had bought it, for her, after his first stay in rehab, and it had worried her then. It was an impulsive act, although he'd told her it was for her, because she'd stood by him. She knew it was one of those things he shouldn't have done, but she hadn't had the heart to do much more than just a token pushback. It was charming and it had become a real retreat for them over the years. She had painted the walls in the great room and updated the kitchen, but it was mostly the same as the day he'd taken her to see it that first time. He had wanted her to come with him, but she had some publicity to do for the label and radio spots, so she had told him she'd come later. Instead of going immediately to the cabin, he had gone down to Mississippi to see his sister and his niece for a few days and then he had headed back to wait for her at the cabin.
She never really knew what happened while he was in Natchez, but she did realize later that the visit had set him off and it was then that he had gone back down in the deep hole of addiction. When she had arrived at the cabin, he was a little jazzed up but she told herself it was just because he had missed her. He made love to her almost frantically and that worried her a little. In the few moments she found herself alone, she quickly looked in cabinets and closets but didn't find any alcohol, and he didn't smell of it, so she told herself she was just being unnecessarily anxious.
It was the second night they were there, when he had gotten down on one knee and asked her to marry him. He told her he didn't want to wait any longer, that they were meant to be together, and that it was time. She found herself agreeing. It was time. They'd been together for more than ten years and he was clean and it was all she wanted. She wanted to move out of the dark little apartment in the West End and move into the darling little bungalow and make a home again with him. And have babies and make music and grow old together. She loved him so much and she cried a little when he put the little silver band on her ring finger and told her he loved her more than anything on earth.
She pulled him into her arms and kissed him and told him how much she loved him and how much she was looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together, making music and raising a family. She had felt all wrapped up in him, first on the floor in front of the fire and then in their bed. She had fallen asleep in his arms, dreaming of their life together. Dreams that had, in the light of day, turned to nightmares when she found him passed out in the great room, a nearly empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. The worst part was when he didn't remember having asked her to marry him.
She let out an anguished sob then, unable to hold it in. She wondered if she should have insisted Tandy drive her up after all. She knew her sister would have reached over and squeezed her hand, even if she wished all of it had never happened. "Sweetie, baby, it's gonna be okay," she'd have said, her voice soothing. It was just what their mom would have said, if she'd still been alive. Virginia Wyatt had always known just the right thing to say to soothe a skinned knee or a tummy ache or a broken heart.
She took the exit off the highway that led to the lake where the cabin was located. She started to feel anxious. When she had left the cabin after walking out on him, she wondered where he had hidden all the liquor. He was an expert at hiding things though, liquor being one of them. And he'd certainly been able to hide from her that he'd fallen off the wagon yet again. Tears filled her eyes again and she surreptitiously wiped them away. She had called Coleman on her way home that day and asked him to go get Deacon and put him back in rehab. Then she'd found herself a replacement guitar player and headed back out on the road.
She had cried all the way home that day and then had promised herself she would not cry again. Not over Deacon Claybourne. He had disappointed her for the very last time. She put everything into her shows, coming back to her hotel room exhausted each night. On her days off, she wrote. Song after song, pouring all her disappointment and anger and commitment to be stronger than ever into the lyrics she filled her notebooks with. And then she would sleep, the sleep of the dead.
It was Bucky who noticed it first. He walked out of the arena with her in Houston, headed for her bus. "Are you okay, Rayna?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
She frowned and looked at him. "What makes you think I'm not okay, Buck?" she asked, a little peevishly. "I've lost my lead guitar player, I've had to cut out almost half of my set list, and" – she spread her arms out – "this damn humidity is sapping every ounce of energy I have."
He shrugged and nodded. "That is a lot, I'll give you that. But it's more than that. You've got circles under your eyes, you've cancelled the last 2 after parties and a week's worth of radio and publicity interviews. What's going on?"
She waved her hand in front of her face and tried to smile. "It's this damn humidity, Buck. Just like I said. It's just sapping the hell out of me." She sighed. "And I've been writing a lot, so not sleeping as well, I guess." She put her hand on his arm and smiled. "I'll be better. I promise. We've got something tonight, don't we?"
He looked at her hesitantly. "Yeah..." he said, drawing the word out.
"I'll be there. Just let me freshen up a little, okay?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." She smiled more broadly. "Don't worry about me. Some nice a/c time will be just the antidote."
When she got back to her room, though, she felt sick. So sick, in fact, that she had to rush to the bathroom to throw up. She wanted to cancel again, but she'd promised Bucky, so she got up from the floor, brushed her teeth, changed her clothes, and called for her hair and makeup people. She was Rayna Jaymes and she could push through it.
She closed her eyes. That was the night she had finally let herself even consider the fact that she might be pregnant. It wasn't the first time she'd been sick, but she'd chalked it up to the sweltering heat and poor diet. Plus her sadness about Deacon and his predicament and where it had left them. She had laid in the bed and brushed her hands over her breasts and at first had tried to tell herself she was imagining the sensitivity. They had one more show, in Dallas, and then they'd be flying home and that's when she told herself she could give in to her anxiety.
She had called Tandy when she got home and told her she thought she might be pregnant. Her sister had come right over, a small bag in her hand. Tandy had sat with her at first, telling her it would be okay.
"What happened, sweetie?" Tandy's voice sounded so sympathetic.
She looked into her sister's eyes. "Well, you know, I went up to the cabin to see Deacon. That was our plan. He went to the cabin, like he always does when we have a break. I had some label stuff to do, so I was going to meet him later. Which I did." She didn't mention that Deacon had proposed nor did she mention that she'd brought a different toiletries bag with her and accidentally left her birth control behind. All of which had turned out to be a recipe for disaster. "He went to Natchez first. What I found out later was that he'd gone back into the cycle. I don't know what happened while he was there, but I didn't realize it until the next day." That was when her sister's sympathy vanished.
Tandy's lips formed a hard line. She had never liked Deacon, had never thought he was good enough, worried about how his alcoholism impacted her sister. "Maybe you're not pregnant. Maybe it's just the flu." Tandy handed her the bag. "Here's a pregnancy test. Let's just wait and see first."
She sat on the edge of the tub while she waited for the test results. As much as she knew Tandy was hoping she wasn't pregnant, by then she was sure that she was. When she looked at the stick and saw the bright blue + sign, she had cried.
She pulled off the road, driving down the gravel drive, and nearly wept with relief when she saw Deacon's truck. When the rehab center had called to tell her he had managed to get off the property, her heart sank. She made Tandy take her by his house first. Her sister waited in the car while she ran up the steps and knocked on his door. Even though she hadn't seen his truck on the street, she had let herself in and walked through the house looking for him. The house had been so still and it was obvious he hadn't been there. Dust was everywhere and the dirty dishes in the sink were getting moldy.
She had panicked then. The cabin was an hour and a half away from Nashville and, if he'd been drinking, the idea of him driving that far made her stomach hurt. She locked the house back up and walked down the steps to where her sister was parked. Her heart felt heavy and she felt desperate to find Deacon. "I need to find him," she said to Tandy. "I've got to find him. Will you drive me to the cabin? I think that may be where he is."
Tandy had not wanted to take her. "Sweetie, I think you just need to let it go. Clearly you know he's not committed to this."
She frowned. "Seriously, Tandy? I mean, he's in trouble. He's sick. I can't just let it go." The sobs were bubbling up in her chest.
Tandy sighed. "He left rehab. Even after he knew how important it was to you." She looked away and then back. "You can't do anything for him, sweetheart."
She felt tears on her cheeks. "But I'm pregnant. I need to talk to him."
Tandy shook her head. "No, you don't. You and that baby don't need someone like him in your lives. Think about it, Rayna. Is this what you want to live with? Never knowing when he might fall off the wagon?"
She hesitated. No, it wasn't. Especially not with a baby on the way. But it wouldn't be long before it was obvious she was pregnant. And it was his. Theirs. She wanted to give him a chance. She thought about that, about all the times before when he'd made promises and then disappointed her and all she could feel was sadness. She wanted to help him. She didn't want to abandon him. She looked back at Tandy. "I have to go."
Tandy shook her head. "No, sweetie, don't do that." She pulled gently on her arm. "Let me take you home. We'll figure all this out when we get back."
She hesitated. It was an impossible situation. Under normal circumstances, she would have just let him be. It would have been hard, but one thing she had learned at the Al-Anon meetings was that she couldn't keep holding him up. But everything was different now. She couldn't make all those decisions by herself. She really needed to see him and find out if he could turn things around. Tandy wasn't going to help her though. She knew that. "Okay," she said. "Let's go home."
When Tandy got to her apartment, she told her she was tired and just wanted to lie down. Reluctantly Tandy drove away, reminding her that she was just a phone call away. "I know. I appreciate it," she said, before Tandy left.
Once her sister was out of sight, she practically ran to her car. She knew Tandy wouldn't support this, would have continued to try to talk her out of it. But she needed to see Deacon. First and foremost, she needed to be sure he was okay. She felt certain he was not, but she couldn't just leave him. And secondly, she needed to tell him she was pregnant. Even if he couldn't provide the kind of life they would need to raise a child, she needed to let him know. See if maybe when he knew, he would stop drinking and be the man she needed him to be and the father their child would need.
Now she was here. His truck was there. She opened the door almost as soon as her car had stopped and jumped out. She ran for the steps to the porch and hurried to the sliding doors. At first she just stood, staring through the glass. The great room was a mess and then Deacon came into view, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, as he walked through the room, oblivious to her standing on the porch. She watched him and felt her heart breaking. He didn't want this, she knew that. She knew he wanted to get better and she just hoped maybe their baby would be the reason he did, once and for all.
She stepped forward and slid open the door. He turned at the sound and stared at her, unsteady on his feet. "Ray?" he said, looking confused.
She took a deep breath. The odor of alcohol and sweat was strong and made her nauseous. The place was a mess. He looked bad. She wasn't sure if he'd be angry or glad she was there. She was the one who'd sent him to rehab after all. But she loved him. As she stood looking at him, that was the one thing she did know for sure. I still love him. I don't know if I can ever stop loving him. She smiled then, even though she was a jumble of nerves inside. "Hey, Deacon," she said.
Deacon
He blinked once, twice. He wanted to lie down on the couch. He felt sick to his stomach. He looked down at his hand and saw the almost empty bottle of whiskey. He looked back at her. He'd been mad when she put him in rehab again. He'd been mad at her. He had walked out and headed down the road outside the clinic until he'd found a place with a pay phone. He'd called Cole and demanded he come get him. Cole had refused and so he'd gone back out to the road and hitched a ride. His ride dropped him off at his house. He had gotten into his truck and then he'd come to the cabin. And now here she was, standing in the doorway, backlit by the sun.
He wanted to be mad at her now, but he couldn't be. He'd missed her. "What're you doing here?" He could hear the slurring of his words, even though he'd tried to enunciate each one carefully.
She took two steps closer to him and he could see her face better, although he still felt unsteady and queasy. She was holding her hands together in front of her and she looked like she'd been crying. "I came for you," she said, her voice soft. "The rehab center called and told me you left. Why did you do that, Deacon?"
He thought about the fact that she'd sent him there. He scowled, feeling mad again. "I don't need it," he said, raising his voice.
She looked around the room, then back at him. "Actually it seems like you do." She walked up to him and took the bottle from him, setting it on the table, and then took his hands in hers. "Deacon, I want to help you. Will you let me?"
He looked at her warily. She'd left him. He remembered that, although he didn't remember much else. She had told him she couldn't be there when he got home this time. "You said it was over," he said angrily.
She nodded. "I know. And I meant it then. But I need to be here now. I need to be with you."
He scowled. "Why?" He tried to pull his hands from hers, but she kept a tight hold.
She smiled. He tried not to see the fear he thought was in her eyes. "Because I love you. And because you love me. Because I want us to make this work. And I want you to get better."
He had to be dreaming. She'd been so firm. That he remembered. His stomach rolled. He lurched forward, then pushed past her, heading out the open door for the edge of the porch, where he puked, before falling down to his knees. He put his hands on his thighs and gasped for breath. He felt dizzy, his head spinning horribly. He leaned forward and puked again.
Suddenly she was kneeling beside him. She handed him a damp cloth and he wiped his face and mouth. Then she gave him a glass of water. "Tiny sips," she said, her voice soothing. He took the glass from her. His hand was shaking so badly that water spilled over the side of the glass. He did what she said, taking a tiny sip, then another. Then he puked again. He felt her hand on his back, rubbing it in circles, the way she'd often done in the past. He wiped his mouth again, then took a swallow of water, swishing it around his mouth, then spitting it out to get rid of some of the puke taste. He hated for her to see him like this.
"I don't want to disappoint you no more, Rayna," he said. His voice sounded tinny to his ears.
"I know," she said. "We're going to get through this, though, and everything's going to be alright." He looked at her and she reached out to push the hair off his forehead. "Let's just get you through this and we'll work it all out tomorrow."
"You coming back then?"
She shook her head. "I'm staying." She put her cool hand on his cheek. "I love you, Deacon."
She looked so pretty. She was practically glowing. He felt tears filling his eyes and he felt so ashamed that he had failed again. He hadn't wanted to, wasn't completely clear about what had sent him down this path again, but he wanted to do this. For her. "I love you too, baby," he said, tears rolling down his cheeks.
She reached under his arm and stood up, pulling him up with her. His legs felt a little like jello, and his head was pounding. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you inside." She held tight to his arm and they slowly made their way back into the cabin.
He woke up and it was pitch black dark, with just the slightest bit of moonlight. His mouth felt like cotton and his head was pounding. He was going to have a wicked hangover, he could tell. He felt bone weary and couldn't even lift his head up. He felt her hand on his arm. He had to be dreaming. Rayna wasn't there. He felt her lips on his shoulder, as her hand moved down his arm. He held still, not wanting her to go away just yet. He thought he heard her whisper his name, but he didn't want to look, for fear she would vanish.
"Deacon." Her voice was a little louder. Her arm was wrapped around his waist and he felt her against his back. "I'm here." He moved his hand to cover hers and felt the softness of her skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember. She'd been standing in the doorway, the sunlight behind her. She had brought him a damp towel and a glass of water. She'd helped him inside and then he'd passed out on the couch. He didn't remember getting into bed though. "Can I get you something?" Her voice was soft and gentle. "Let me get some aspirin."
He felt her pull her arm away and get up from the bed. In a few minutes she was back, sitting beside him on the bed where he could see her. "You're here?" he croaked out. His mouth was so dry he couldn't swallow.
She nodded and then held out her open hand. "Can you sit up for just a minute?" she asked. He tried, but it felt like his head was going to explode and the room was spinning and he dropped back onto the pillow with a moan. He breathed in and then tried again. The pain was excruciating, but he reached for the pills in her hand and put them in his mouth. Then he took the glass of water and started to drink, until he'd drained the glass. "You want some more water?" she asked.
He shook his head and felt dizzy again. He dropped his head to the pillow. "Nah," he said. "I'm okay." She pushed the hair off his face and stroked his cheek. He squinted a little to bring her into focus. It looked like she was still wearing the same dress.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Go back to sleep," she said. "Hopefully the aspirin will help." She got up and he quickly grabbed her hand.
"Don't go," he said.
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to get some more water and put it next to you in case you need it. I'll be back."
He closed his eyes and tried to relax. It wasn't until he felt her get back into bed, and she had put her arm around him again, as though she were keeping him safe, when he was finally able to fall asleep.
The room was filled with muted sunlight when he opened his eyes. The blinds were drawn, but it looked like it was a bright sunny day. He ran his hand over his face. His head didn't hurt as much as it had. His mouth still felt like it was full of cotton and he looked at the bedside table. There was a glass filled with water sitting there. He closed his eyes, then remembered Rayna had put it there. Except that couldn't be possible. He had to have dreamed she was there. He rolled onto his back and saw that he was in the bed alone. There was no sign of her. He sighed. It had been a dream after all. He frowned. How did the water get there? He sat up. The headache was still there, but not as bad as it had been. He got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. When he looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked drawn. His stomach growled.
He could smell himself, that old unfortunately familiar combination of smells – whiskey, sweat, puke. He stood there for a moment, then decided he needed a shower. He turned on the water and let it warm up, then stepped into the tub and picked up the soap, rubbing it all over his body. He shampooed his hair and then let the water run over him, standing with his eyes closed, feeling some of the weariness wash away with the water. When he got out he grabbed a towel and dried off, then combed his hair back. He needed coffee. He needed food. He reached for the mouthwash, taking a swig and rinsing out his mouth. When he looked back in the mirror, he felt better and looked marginally better.
He walked back into the bedroom and picked up the glass of water, draining it. Then he pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt. He stared at the bed. It looked like there was an indentation in the pillow next to his, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He opened the bedroom door and walked out into the great room. It was quiet. He also noticed that everything had been put back where it belonged. It was all neat and tidy again. He stood and breathed in. Coffee. He frowned again as he headed for the coffeemaker in the kitchen. The great room was empty, but the coffee was hot. He grabbed a mug and filled it. He turned towards the sliders, squinting against the sunlight on the lake.
That's when he finally saw her. Or at least a bit of her red hair. He walked up to the doors and she was sitting in one of the porch chairs, looking out towards the lake. The sunlight made her hair look like it was on fire. She was wearing the same dress and her legs were tucked underneath her. She was holding a coffee mug in her hands. He slid open the door and she turned. She smiled when she saw him.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
He stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him. He walked around her and eased into the chair beside her. "You really are here," he said, avoiding her question.
She nodded. "I am."
He sat back in the chair and breathed out. "I thought I dreamed you," he murmured. Then he looked back at her. "Why are you here?"
She held her hand out to him and, after a moment, he took it. She squeezed gently. "They called me from the rehab facility and told me you left. I've been worried about you, Deacon. I mean, you were doing so well, finally, and then all of a sudden you weren't. What happened?" She looked so worried, it broke his heart. He hated disappointing her and he couldn't figure out why he couldn't keep from doing that.
"Beverly called me," he said. "Things were bad, she said, and since you couldn't come up here right away, I figured I could go check on things."
She bit her lip. "Oh, Deacon. I wish you'd told me before you went."
"I did tell you I was going."
"Well, I mean, that things were bad." She let her fingers thread his. "I take it your father was there?"
He looked away, clenching his jaw. He'd never wanted her to know the really dark side of his life, the parts he worked so hard to forget. It was when that darkness overtook him that he needed to erase it with booze. He'd always kept the worst of it from her. "I don't wanna talk about it, Rayna," he said.
She hesitated. "Maybe you need to. I want to help you, Deacon."
He looked back at her and scowled. "No!" he said, louder than he'd meant to. "I ain't talking about him, Rayna." This was making his head start to hurt. "I can't talk about it." He pulled his hand from hers. Her face looked so sad. He hated to see her sad.
"Well, I'm going to be here, with you," she said. "I love you, Deacon. I want you to beat this. I need you to beat this." She took a deep breath. "Are you hungry?" He nodded. She stood up then and reached for his hand. "I know you have food here because I looked. Let me fix you something."
He stood up and smiled a little. "Ravioli in a can," he said.
She laughed, but her eyes were still sad. "Yes. Ravioli in a can."
He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her long and hard, pull her down into bed with him, but he restrained himself. That she was here at all was a blessing and a gift he knew he didn't deserve. He had a lot to prove to her. He'd let her down, again. He shouldn't have gone to Natchez, he shouldn't have stayed when he got there and discovered his father there. Gideon Claybourne had left town after his and Beverly's mom had died. The siblings had always believed he'd had something to do with it, but they were also grateful he was gone. But Beverly had called the day after he'd come back to Nashville on Rayna's tour break.
"Deacon, he's back," she cried over the phone.
He frowned. "Who?"
"Daddy." She paused.
"When?"
"I don't know. A month ago, maybe."
"Beverly, why didn't you let me know then?"
"Well, you were out on the road with your lady love." He could hear the disdain in her voice. She'd never liked Rayna, blamed her for 'stealing' him away.
He bristled. "You know you could have called me, Bev. He don't need to be around you. Or Scarlett." He worried about both of them. Beverly was high strung, falling into manic-depressive spells easily. Scarlett was the one who paid the price for that.
"Well, Deacon, I'm calling you now. We need you."
And so he'd gone to Natchez. He'd be back before Rayna came to the cabin. Before he left Nashville, he slipped the small jewelry box into his duffle bag. He'd picked up the ring he was planning to give Rayna when he asked her to marry him. He was tired of her living in that apartment and he was ready to start the rest of their lives together. He'd shown her he could get, and stay, sober. All he needed was her.
But the trip home was not what he'd expected. Gideon still had a power over him that forced him to his knees. He was so shaken by it that he'd left sooner than he'd planned. He could still hear Beverly shrieking after him that he was walking away, just like he always had, abandoning her and now Scarlett as well. He was just north of Nashville proper when he pulled off the interstate and hit a package store. By the time he made it to the cabin, the first bottle of whiskey was more than half gone.
Rayna was coming though and he couldn't – wouldn't – disappoint her. The day before she came, he hid all the whiskey in the upper shelves, the ones she couldn't reach. By the time she got there, he hadn't touched a drop for 2 days, but most of the rest of what had happened was foggy. He'd found the ring on the floor under the couch and Cole was at the door. Rayna was gone.
Now she was back and it almost felt like nothing had changed. Except she'd seen him drunk. She was still here though, taking care of him, telling him everything would be okay. He was afraid to even consider what that meant. She'd said she needed him to beat this. She told him she loved him. She'd been in the same bed with him. He watched her as she pulled a pot out and put it on the stove, opening a can of ravioli and dumping it in. Then she turned on the gas and got 2 plates from the cabinet, setting them on the counter. He walked over and stood next to the stove.
She looked up and smiled. "Can you get forks for us? And a couple glasses?" He nodded, doing as she asked. He put them on the kitchen island, after filling the glasses with water. When she had spooned out the food onto the plates, she brought them around and set them down. They both got up on the stools and started to eat.
The food felt good in his stomach and his headache was starting to ease. As he took care of the dishes, she went and sat on the couch. He then followed her and sat down, leaving space between them. "You never said why you were here," he said.
"I was worried about you, Deacon. When I found out you had left rehab, I was afraid you were drinking again." He looked down, feeling ashamed that he'd let her down again. "You were doing so well, babe. What happened?"
He looked at her and scowled. "I told you I don't wanna talk about none of that."
"I don't mean that, Deacon. I mean, why did you leave rehab?"
"I didn't want to be there, Ray. It made me feel like a failure." He looked up at the ceiling and barked out a laugh. "Which I guess I was, right?" He looked at her then.
She shook her head. "I don't think you're a failure, Deacon. But you do need help..."
He scowled. "It don't work, Rayna. You can see that. 4 times. 4 screw-ups."
"That's not completely true. You were sober for a year and a half the last time. You were doing so well. I know you can do this, Deacon." She looked down at her hands. "Maybe I was wrong to walk away, not listen to you and what was going on."
He sighed. "No, I think you were right to go. All I do is disappoint you. Hurt you. Cause you pain."
She slid over closer to him then and linked her arms through his. "I know you don't want to." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't want you to feel like you're all alone in this, Deacon. Not anymore." She looked at him earnestly. "I do need you to do the work though. It was disappointing to see you like I did when I got here. I mean, it makes me wonder if you really want to make this work."
He swallowed hard. "I do, baby. I just, well, it's hard."
She moved closer, taking his hand. "I know it's hard, Deacon, but I need you to be stronger than all that. Remember why you're doing this. I want to be here with you. I want to support you. But you need to see why it's important."
He had a lump in his throat. "I do, baby. I really do. I want to."
She looked around the room and then back at him. "Is there more whiskey here?" He hesitated. He hated the idea of telling her that he'd hidden booze from her, again. Finally he nodded. "Where?"
He got up and walked into the kitchen. He opened the top cabinets and reached for the bottles, some full, some partially empty, and set them on the counter. She breathed in deeply. He opened the rest of the cabinets to show her they were empty.
"Is there more?" she asked.
He stood still for a moment, then headed for the doors. She followed behind him as he walked to the shed. He got down on his knees and pulled 2 bottles from underneath, then got up and opened the small structure, bringing out 3 more. He was afraid to look at her, but finally he did. She looked devastated. "That's all," he whispered. "I swear."
She put her hand over her mouth. "How long...?"
He had tears in his eyes. "A while." He swallowed. "Since before Natchez." She turned then and ran back to the house. He didn't know what to do. He assumed she would leave after all and he felt his heart breaking. He turned back and looked at the bottles on the picnic table. It would be easy to just open one and put it to his mouth, drinking until he didn't remember anymore. So he wouldn't remember she'd been there since the day before, that she'd slept in the same bed, made him something to eat.
He breathed in deeply. He was going to be strong this time. He picked up the bottles, wrapping his arms around them, carrying them to the house. When he walked in, he saw her pouring the whiskey from the other bottles into the sink. He walked up to her and set the rest of them down. She glanced at him and then, when she'd finished the ones she had, she started on the 5 he'd brought in. He felt a little panicked for a second, but he pressed his hands on the counter and breathed in and out. When she was done, she put the bottles into a trash bag, one by one. She tied up the bag and dragged it to the side of the island.
"Baby, I..."
She shook her head. She reached for his hand and looked deep into his eyes. "We start over now," she said. He nodded. "A new start."
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. After a second, she kissed him back, and he could feel himself relax. All he wanted in the world was her. All he needed in the world was her. And she was back.
He finished the song and set the guitar aside. The air was heavy and warm, the sky clear, the stars sparkling, and the moon was just a sliver. He looked back at her and she was smiling. All he could think about was how much he loved her and how much he wanted to make everything up to her. "Rayna, I..."
She put a finger against his lips. "It's my turn," she said. She looked a little nervous then, as she took his hands. "You've been wondering why I came, why I'm here. I want to tell you. But first, I want you to know how scared I was when I saw you yesterday. You were so out of control and I didn't know what to think."
"I'm sorry, Rayna."
She shook her head. "I know. But I need to say this." She ran her tongue over her lower lip. "I know this is a struggle for you. Every day. I understand all that. I know you don't want things to be this way. I also know how hard you've tried. I really thought this last time was when everything was going to work. But you can still do this, Deacon. I know you can."
"I will, baby. I promise."
"Well, I really need you to, babe. It's important because, well, because I'm pregnant." He wasn't sure he'd heard her right. His voice failed him and he just stared at her. "We're having a baby," she said, a guarded look on her face.
His chest felt tight and he couldn't breathe for a second. He pushed up from the chair and walked to the edge of the porch. He hadn't expected to hear her say that. It wasn't like they hadn't talked about it before, having a family. She wanted to be a mama. He knew that, had always known that. He had no idea if he could be a father. He wanted to. He hoped he could be. But it had always seemed out in the future. But all of a sudden the future was now.
"Deacon?" He turned around to face her and he could see the confusion on her face. The hurt in her eyes. Oh my god, she thinks I ain't happy.
He took a step towards her and put his hands on her arms. "You sure?" he asked. He could hear the shakiness in his voice. She nodded, still looking like she could cry. He smiled then and put his hands on either side of her face, then kissed her. "I love you, Rayna."
She looked up at him, a tentative smile crossing her face. "Are you...are you okay with this?"
He wrapped her up in his arms. "Ah, baby, yeah, I'm okay." He felt her arms slide around his back, holding onto him tightly. He pulled back and looked down at her. "I'm gonna do this, baby. I promise. I won't let you down." He kissed her again and she started laughing.
"I'm sorry to surprise you like this," she said, but her smile said she was happy about it too.
He shook his head. "It don't matter. We're having a baby." He hugged her again. Then he looked at her seriously. "We gonna...do this...together?"
She nodded. "Of course we are. If you want to."
He smiled. "I do. But under one condition."
"What's that?"
"You gotta move outta that apartment and in with me."
She smiled and nodded. "I can do that."
"And one more thing."
"What's that?"
"You gotta marry me. Now."
She put her hands on his chest. "That's a lot, Deacon. I think maybe it would be better to just do this. Have this baby. For now."
He felt a flash of anger. "You don't want to get married to me?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Of course I want to get married. But I think it would be better if we just took it one step at a time. This is a lot, babe, and I hate to remind you, but you just walked away from rehab."
He frowned. "You think I can't do this?"
"I know you want to. I want you to. I need you to. So I think we do this. Get used to this." She looked at him pleadingly. "I don't want to rush anything, babe. I really am going to need you. This is a lot for me too. Having a baby is a big deal, a big responsibility, and I know it's kind of a surprise and we weren't planning for it right now, but here we are." He could see tears in her eyes and then he felt bad that he'd pushed. He put his hand on her stomach, still flat. It was hard to imagine yet.
"Our baby?" he said.
She put one hand over his and nodded, looking up at him. "Our baby."
He leaned in and kissed her. "I can't wait." He bit down on his lower lip. "I promise I'll be a good dad, Ray." She nodded, smiling a little nervously. "I mean it. I'm committed to this. To you. I'm gonna work my program, stay straight. Do the work." He kissed her again. "For our family." Then he took her hand and led her back into the house.
