He's never been able to pinpoint the exact moment he knew he had lost her. The one thing he did know that it was before she actually walked out the door. Every trip to rehab, every missed show, every broken piece of furniture drove her further away from him, into the arms of Teddy Conrad. He remembered that moment with crystal clear clarity, the day he found out Rayna got married to someone who wasn't him. He was in Rehab at the time, close to finishing up his fifth stay. Cole had been the one to tell him. That hurt maybe more than anything else, the fact that Rayna hadn't told him herself, had she had so easily shut him out of her life.
He thought about bailing on Rehab, going to the nearest bar, but something stopped him. He knew if he fucked up this time, Rayna wouldn't be there to pick up the pieces. This was his last shot, and he knew he needed to prove to himself and to her that he could do it. And somehow against all odds he actually managed to do it, the thing that had alluded him throughout his entire relationship with Rayna, he had managed to stay sober.
When he had gotten back to Nashville after Rehab, he knew he couldn't stay. So he sold his house, packed up his truck and left. He hadn't exactly had a plan; he just knew he needed to get out of Nashville. He had still technically been in Rayna's band at the time, but in recent time he had been missing more gigs than he had been present for. He knew Bucky had guys on standby for when he eventually didn't show up, so he figured she'd be covered in that area, glad she no longer had to deal with his screwups.
He eventually ended up in Natchez, but that didn't last. He could only spend so much time with his sister. He moved around a lot after that, never staying in one place too long. Eventually he ended up in Austin, he liked it there, reminded him a little of Nashville. It never quite felt like home, but it was close enough.
He still wrote, and he would still play in bars around Austin, but he was no longer making a living out of music. He eventually bought a bar. Deacon could never figure out whether he did to prove he could be around bouse all the time without drinking, or if he just really liked torturing himself. He suspected it was the latter.
He was never fully able to give up music, it was in his blood, so much a part of him that he would never be able to separate himself from it. Writing with Rayna had always been his favourite thing, the way they were so in synch, always knowing which melody would fit the others' lyric, or vice versa. That had been an adjustment, learning how to write on his own again. It wasn't like he had never written without Rayna when they were together, but he had always known that she was there if he got stuck. He had gotten used to writing by himself over the years, but he had never been able to stop himself from wondering whether she would like the song when he finished.
Deacon sighed in frustration. This had been happening a lot since he'd been on tour, not being able to sleep. His thoughts too plagued by Rayna. Not for the first time, he wondered if coming on this tour was a good idea. He knew the antsiness, and lack of sleep weren't good for his sobriety. He acknowledged that he wasn't going to get any sleep anytime soon. Figuring some fresh air would be good, Deacon got out of bed, heading for the exit of the hotel.
On his way out he passes through the bar, he finds a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables. They've been keeping their distance, so part of him thinks he should just pretend he didn't see her and continue towards the exit, but he's never been especially good at controlling his impulses, especially when it comes to Rayna. So instead of leaving, he walks up to her table.