This is a little different, playing about with something AU, because I don't usually so why the hell not? Probably over-the-top dramatic but just for fun!
The man's shoes are too shiny.
Everyone's smoking cheap cigarettes and there's not a single real glass in the whole place; the drinks come in red solo cups and you can forget ice, the machine packed in weeks ago and there's no sign of it being fixed. A refrigerator rumbles noisily behind the one-person bar and the beer that comes out of it is tepid at best. Nobody cares - they came for the music, and they've stayed for the $1 PBRs and the atmosphere.
The man sitting in the corner furthest from Rayna and Deacon's heated game of pool doesn't fit in. Deacon had noticed him right after they'd finished their set - it's a small bar, and no matter how bad the lighting, someone in a trenchcoat with a combover isn't going to blend in. Not in this part of town. He's been nursing the same drink all night, peering into the cup from time to time with a frown but Deacon hasn't seen him take a sip, and he's kept to himself, sitting too still in the shadows.
The pool table wobbles if you lean on it to line up your shot, and Deacon can't quite get his balance but Rayna is on fire, poised like she always is, whooping his ass and making no secret of how smug she is about it.
He'd scratched their names into this table with his car keys the first time they ever came to this bar: Deacon loves Rayna, right there in the side by the slot where the balls come out. She'd laughed at him, but one flirty game later - she'd won that one too - she'd dragged him out back and let him feel her up beside a dumpster full of empty bottles, and the night had finished hot and heavy in the backseat of his shitty truck. He likes to think about that every time they come in here, and he tries to distract her by bending her a little too far over the table and breathing down her neck to make her shiver. She always beats him anyway.
"Your ass is mine, Claybourne," she says, jutting a hip to get him to step aside so she can get better access to her cue ball. He watches her perfect her position, dirty thoughts racing through his mind that he doesn't try to stop.
"My ass is yours anytime you want it, darlin'," he tells her, and she chuckles like she's going to take him up on the offer any moment.
Two balls drop into opposite pockets with a synchronised clunk and Rayna straightens, flashing him a look that makes his stomach leap. He wants her bad. He always wants her bad.
"You're up, Big Shot," she taunts him, flipping her cue upright and leaning on it.
She hasn't noticed him, the man. Deacon doesn't think there's any reason to point him out - it's not as though Nashville's dive bars aren't full of odd characters.
"Not bad, baby. Not bad at all."
"Oh, I know," she says, her Southern drawl out to play, and he laughs.
He rolls his shoulders, sizing up the table. Balls are scattered across it and he tries to focus on them, looking for a pattern, but Rayna takes a swig of her beer and her lips around the neck of the bottle make him miss entirely.
"Shit," he hisses, his eyes fixed on her mouth, the table forgotten. She's amused, her underhanded tactic paying off just as she knew it would.
"Better luck next time," she says and flips her hair casually, but there's nothing casual about the way she brushes past him to take her turn. She deliberately pushes her ass towards him as she leans over, and grazes the front of his jeans. He almost splits them in two - if they were alone he'd lift her dress up and take her right there, but they're not alone, and it takes a whole lot of effort to keep his hands to himself.
She pockets another ball - of course she does - and gives a little victory-wiggle of her hips, and Deacon can't resist snagging her around the waist to pull her in for a kiss. She lets him, but only for a teasing moment.
"No fraternising with the opposition," she scolds, in a voice so low he feels it hit him in all the right places, and then she slips out of his reach, motioning for him to continue. As though he can even stand up straight now. She's so damn sexy, especially when she's toying with him.
He steps forward to take a shot, determined to impress her this time, and it works - he gets it in the side pocket, nice and smooth. As he straightens up he feels eyes on him, on them, and he looks across the bar. The man in the trenchcoat looks away quickly.
"I'll give you that one," Rayna says, and Deacon shakes himself quickly back to her. "You're not gonna beat me though. I got this in the bag."
"What do I give you for winnin', huh?"
"Whatever I want you to give me," she purrs over her shoulder, and it's about all he can take. When she pots the next ball he takes the cue out of her hands and drops it onto the table, and she only protests half-heartedly. They never have been able to make it through a whole game of anything.
As he leads her out of the bar, murmuring in her ear just what he's going to do to her when they get home, he glances at the man. His eyes are on Rayna, no expression on his face, but something about his stare gives Deacon chills. He pulls Rayna tighter into his side and yanks the door open, and checks behind him as they walk across the parking lot.
By the time he gets his truck started up, Rayna's nibbling on his neck and sliding her hand up his thigh, and he forgets all about the stranger.
/
He sees him again a week later.
They're at the restaurant Vince has been working at for a couple of months, eating meat and three and chatting to him while he loiters at their table and gets eyeballed by the manager. Rayna is stealthily, so she thinks, spooning a dollop of Deacon's creamed corn into her mouth when he spots the guy.
He's at a booth, not a table, and he isn't eating anything. He has one of the laminated menus held up in front of him and when Deacon makes eye contact he pretends to peruse it, but it seems exaggerated, too deliberate. There's a cup of water next to him, untouched, one a waiter would have set out for him when he sat down. The ice in it looks to have melted - he's been there a while.
"Hey," Deacon says quietly, nodding at Vince. "Don't look, but that guy over there to the left of the restrooms, he one of your tables?"
Vince leans on the back of a chair and does a surprisingly good job of glancing nonchalantly around the restaurant. "Yeah," he says, leaning down to pick up an empty basket that's had Deacon's fries in and Rayna's finished water cup, a smooth cover-up. "What about him?"
"I've seen him before."
"This is Nashville, man, we've seen everybody before."
"You don't think he looks kinda... outta place?" He's wearing the coat again, a crisp blue shirt underneath it. A briefcase is laid on the seat next to him, closed.
Vince waits a beat and scans the tables again.
"I mean sure, he looks like a corporate bastard, but you get some of 'em in here - it's fast and it's good shit. He probably works in one of those fancy buildings Downtown and the cafeteria food tastes like ass."
Rayna reaches for Deacon's water and sips it. "Somethin' the matter babe?"
"No, no." He smiles at her. "Vinny's right - ain't a street you can walk down in this town without bumpin' into someone you know."
"I'm gonna get y'all some dessert menus. The cherry pie is better than sex," Vince declares, and gives the manager a salute as he saunters into the back.
/
Deacon doesn't see Vince that evening, or the following day. They're all working their asses off at multiple jobs to fund a tour of some small clubs out of state later in the year, writing like crazy every moment they can to get a solid setlist together. It's been a while since they've all been in the apartment at the same time, and Deacon can't wait until they're playing music for a living and can hang out and call it work.
It's Saturday when he emerges from the bathroom to find Vince at the breakfast counter eating cold Taco Bell leftovers in his boxers.
"Hey man," he says, and Deacon rubs his eyes.
"Hey buddy. Why you up so early?"
"It ain't early, it's late - I haven't been to bed yet."
Deacon groans and flops onto the stool beside him. "That burrito smells like you're gonna get diarrhea."
"Want the other half?"
"Hand it over."
They munch in silence, Deacon trying to wake up. He's left Rayna sleeping, a restless feeling he can't put his finger on rousing him long before he would've wanted to get out of bed, especially while she's warm and naked in it.
"Hey," Vince says, picking up some limp lettuce that falls onto the counter and shoving it into his mouth. "I forgot to tell you, that guy you were askin' about over at Arnold's the other day?"
"Huh?"
"The dude with the briefcase, the one you were suss about."
"Oh," Deacon says, remembering. "Yeah, that guy."
"He didn't order anythin'. He ditched right after you and Rayna headed out, left a five dollar tip for free tap water. Guess he was kinda weird after all." He bites into a handful of cold fries. "Or he decided he wasn't in the mood for brisket."
/
He picks Rayna up from work the next couple of nights. She's surprised to see him, happily so, and he tells her he's missing her even more than usual, that he wants to take every moment with her he can.
It's true, and he loves how she throws her arms around him and leaves her car in the lot of the diner she works at without a second thought.
He also can't shake the feeling something is off.
Maybe it's unjustified, and he knows he's probably just overprotective, but it's nagging at him and he feels like he needs to look out for Rayna a little more. He'd never tell her, of course - she'd tell him he was sweet but an idiot, and she'd ruffle his hair and think nothing more of it.
Maybe she'd be right not to. But he turns up to the diner anyway and he relaxes the second he sees her, her pretty face, the way her eyes light up when he walks in the door. As long as Rayna is in his arms all is right in Deacon's world.
He gets a strange sensation a few times that week, goosebumps on the back of his neck. When he looks behind him there's no one there, no one he can make out in the crowds of bars, the aisles of the grocery store. The feeling creeps up his neck and taps at his shoulder though, a foreboding, like he's being watched. It only happens when he's with Rayna, he notices, and she seems oblivious to it so he says nothing. He needs more sleep, probably - between long shifts at his jobs and his inability to resist Rayna in pyjama shorts he isn't getting a whole lot of shut-eye right now. It's making him paranoid, go figure.
"Tandy's gonna come over for dinner this week," she tells him while they're strolling around Franklin on a Saturday afternoon. She's persuaded him to go with her to a craft fair, as though he wouldn't go anywhere on earth she wanted, but he's surprised at how much he's enjoying the brass band and the smell of cakes and sweet tea in the air.
There are little tents dotted everywhere, traffic diverted so that people in cosy cardigans can browse streets full of stalls selling their wares. Deacon walks with Rayna, holding her hand and eating ice cream, and for the first time all week he's completely at ease. Maybe it's because she's so happy, tugging on his hand to pull him over to look at handmade jewellery and rolling hills painted in tiny brush strokes on canvases. She persuades him to try samples of freshly brewed moonshine and little squares of cheeses, and holds up dangly earrings to her ears to get his opinion. She rolls her eyes when he tells her he thinks they all look beautiful on her, but it's the truth.
They have a whole day off together, and he can't think of a better way to spend it than to see her smiling. She's been tired lately too.
"Want me to cook my gourmet spaghetti hoops dish for your sister?" he asks. "I could add cheese on top, really give it that extra somethin'."
Rayna smiles wryly. "I'm sure she'd love that, babe." He laughs. "Maybe we can order in from that Chinese place over on Gallatin, that stuff's pretty good." She takes a lick of her ice cream, crunching on a little piece of chocolate and making an oooh sound. "You could pretend you made it."
"I'll put it on real plates and throw her off the scent," he says, and Rayna pulls him to a stop and leans up to kiss him. She tastes like mint chocolate chip, and her tongue's cool. He wants to toss away his ice cream and just devour her instead.
They keep walking, past two kids playing with hula hoops and a guy busking, a pretty solid rendition of You Are My Sunshine entertaining a little crowd gathered around him. Deacon throws a couple of dollar bills into his guitar case and the guy lifts a hand at him.
It's uneventful, a slow day with watery sunshine and a breeze brightening everyone's mood, and Deacon soaks it all up. He soaks Rayna up, taking advantage of their time alone to kiss her cheek, put his arms around her and rest his chin on her shoulder while they line up for crepes, to just enjoy being around her. He loves her deeply, and he's more attracted to her than he knows how to handle, but he truly likes her too, who she is as a person, how she sees the world. Some of his favourite times with her are the simple days when they can share easy conversation and just be with each other.
"Oh!" she gasps when they turn a corner and see a whole row of stalls selling second-hand vinyls. "We could get one for Vince, it's his birthday soon!"
Deacon grins at her, and she leads him to the first stall and starts flipping through the nearest box. He does the same, and they work their way through record after record, finding hidden treasures for Vince and a couple for themselves.
There's a gaggle of people around them rifling through the music and Rayna reaches through them to retrieve their carrier bag of purchases from the stall owner. They start to walk away, dodging people, until the woman calls out "Hey ma'am!" and waves a handful of dollar bills at her.
"Shoot, I forgot the change," she says and whirls around to go back, but she bumps into a man being jostled into her in the crowd. She starts to apologise, and then her body language abruptly changes. "Albert?"
A tall, gangly man with a sour face is standing there, and he looks panicked for a moment so fleeting Deacon almost swears he didn't see it at all. He blinks and all trace of it has gone.
"Hi Rayna," the man says, and she bristles.
"What are you doin' down here?" she asks, and Albert does the worst impression of casual Deacon's ever seen.
"I come here every year." He waves vaguely around the street. "I enjoy a fair."
Deacon, who's never been to a fair before today, almost laughs. This man certainly isn't the ice cream and homemade jam type.
"Right," Rayna replies, not falling for it either. "And how is my father keeping?" It's pointed and she sounds kind of dark, tension rolling off her.
"As well as ever, of course." Albert gives her a brisk nod, and looks at Deacon for just a second but it's long enough to leave him feeling like he's been punched. "I'll see you again, I'm sure."
He strides away and disappears into the crowd, and the woman at the vinyl stall calls over to Rayna again. She doesn't move, so Deacon leans over to take the change and nods in thanks.
"Who was that guy?" he asks, putting his hand on her back and guiding her away to a quieter part of the street. She looks rattled.
"He works for my father. Tandy and I have known him since we were kids - I still couldn't tell you what he actually does."
"One of Lamar's henchmen, huh?" Rayna nods. "What do you think he's doin' here?"
"Well he isn't here for the locally brewed wines, that's for sure." She looks over her shoulder and Deacon does the same; Albert is nowhere to be seen.
The unease Deacon had been feeling trickles back into his veins, and the lightness of the day evaporates somewhat. He thinks of the trenchcoat man. "Ray, you don't think your father's keepin' tabs on you, do you?"
She snorts. "I wouldn't put a damn thing past Daddy. He's still bitter he couldn't control me and make me stay in that house."
A group of kids wearing baseball t-shirts runs past them, one of them brandishing a water gun.
"And away from me," Deacon says.
"And away from you." She looks up at him, squinting in the sun. "Let's forget about Albert. I don't care what he's doin' here, he can't stop us enjoyin' this." She tugs on his hand. "And there are corndogs - look."
The corndogs are delicious, and Rayna gets a dollop of barbeque sauce on her lip that Deacon licks off for her, helpful as he is. They don't see Albert again, but for the rest of the afternoon, Deacon can't help but feel like there are eyes on them, and they aren't alone in their alone time at all.
/
Tandy likes his choice of appetisers.
She's never said a thing much in his favour before, so her approval goes a long way. Egg rolls. She doesn't like him or his music or his relationship with Rayna, and she sure as hell doesn't like his roommate, but she reaches for a second egg roll and Deacon feels like she's given him permission to marry her sister.
"It's not like college isn't hard," she says, picking up a fork and waving it in the air, steam rising from the shrimp chow mein on her plate. "It's just harder bein' at home with Daddy. He doesn't take a minute's break, and neither can anyone around him - you know what he's like."
"There never was any downtime in that house," Rayna says.
Tandy grimaces. "You'd be hating it more than ever if you were still there - Daddy's running for Chief of the City Council, and he's taking the whole thing very seriously." It surprises Deacon when she rolls her eyes. "He's a little insufferable right now, shall we say."
"Chief of the Council?" Rayna scoffs and digs her fork into her food with an extra bit of gusto. "He doesn't have enough power already?"
"You know Daddy, no power is ever enough power." She sighs, and it's not clear whether it's out of frustration or admiration. Perhaps a combination of both. "Summer break ends soon anyway and I'll be back to dorm life."
Dorm life, for Tandy Wyatt, looks like preppy outfits and mahogany writing desks. Deacon's seen the photos Rayna's taken on her trips to see her at Stanford - it looks like somewhere a Claybourne would be escorted out of, pronto.
"Are you gonna come visit this time?" Tandy asks. She glances at Deacon, and it's reluctant but she adds, "Both of you?"
He almost falls off his chair. Rayna is surprised at her inclusion of him too and she gives him a contained little smile. He brushes her leg with his foot under the table. "I know I couldn't visit last semester but this time, absolutely," she says, careful not to commit Deacon to anything he might not want to sign up for. "Hey, while you're still in town - we're playin' a show tomorrow night, wanna come see us?"
"I would really love to," Tandy says, and she seems to actually mean it - she's been trying to be more supportive of Rayna's ambitions lately, maybe finally starting to accept they're not going to change, "but Daddy's got me covering a big meeting for him over at City Hall in the evening. He's out of town for a few days on business, so he can't make it." She sips her wine. "It's the first time he's asked me to do anything like that."
"Daddy's trustin' you with all those suit-and-moustache types, solo?" Rayna raises her eyebrows, and Tandy laughs.
"Well, I won't be completely solo. Albert will be there with me for support. Or maybe to make sure I don't mess up."
Rayna catches Deacon's eye and he sees her hesitate. He can almost hear her trying to talk herself out of saying anything, but she's too curious to resist. "Speakin' of Albert," she starts, "we bumped into him over the weekend. At a craft fair in Franklin, of all places."
"A fair? I've never seen Albert off duty. What was he doing?"
Rayna waits a beat. "Shopping for vinyl records."
Tandy, to her credit, almost chokes on her wine. "You're joking. I doubt that man has listened to music in his whole life. His insides are made up of chequebooks and tax calculations."
It was weird. They'd known it was, but her reaction confirms it and Rayna takes a triumphant bite of a dumpling.
"Maybe he was gonna use the records as coasters," Deacon muses, and reaches for the wine bottle to top their glasses up.
"Hey uh, don't mention that I told you we saw him, okay?" Rayna says. "I got the feelin' he wasn't exactly thrilled about it."
"Not a word." Tandy snags another egg roll. "Does this place deliver to Belle Meade?"
/
Thursday starts like any other day. Deacon wakes wrapped around Rayna, and opens his eyes to see her panties on the bedside lamp where they must have landed when he launched them the night before.
She starts to rouse and stretches in his arms, rubbing her ass against his erection, and he rumbles a good morning in her ear and runs his hands over her sleepy body.
A half hour and three orgasms later, Rayna kisses him on her tiptoes before she pads to the bathroom in his shirt.
He hears the shower turn on and pulls on some boxers, and goes into the kitchen to make breakfast. Vince is still snoring, but he's due to get up for work so Deacon throws some bagels in for all three of them and brews a pot of coffee. It's hissing when Rayna walks in, a towel on her head.
"Babe, have you seen my silver necklace, the one you got me for my birthday? I can't find it anywhere."
He pulls some mugs out of a cupboard and sets them on the counter. "It's not on the nightstand?" She shakes her head."Maybe I knocked it off last night - I was a little enthusiastic with your underwear." He sniggers. "Have you checked the floor?"
"I've checked all around the bed. I always keep it right there on that nightstand when I take it off, I've never put it anywhere else."
It's her favourite, and she's worn it every day since he bought it for her. She sounds upset and he abandons his coffee-making and moves around the counter to her. "It'll be there somewhere baby," he says, snaking his arms around her waist. "I'll go take a look when I've got breakfast sorted."
He does, and to Rayna's dismay he can't find it either, but he promises he'll check his truck and scour the apartment when they get home that night so she can wear it for their gig, just like she has for all the other gigs they've played.
Work is unmemorable, and Deacon busies himself counting down the hours until he gets to see Rayna again. He does this every day, every moment he spends at any of his jobs, repairing cars, pouring drinks, dragging road cases out of trucks to load into venues. Today he's repairing guitars at a music store, coaxing the broken and busted instruments back to life. It's not bad work at all, he kind of likes it, but he could be writing music with Rayna, getting her album into shape to put out there to labels. He could be sitting too close to her on a couch, whispering in her ear while she scribbles into her notebook and tries not to give into him.
He drives over to the diner on his lunchbreak so he can grab a few minutes with her, anything to get him through. She slips him a doughnut in with his takeaway sandwich and winks at him when she tells him it's cinnamon cream, and he can't resist kissing her before her boss shoos him on his way.
The moment the clock strikes five he's out the door, and he taps his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently while traffic crawls along I-24 on his way home. Rayna's car is parked on the street in front of their apartment and he jumps out of his truck and jogs up the sidewalk to get to her as fast as he can. She comes hurtling out of the bedroom when he opens the front door and calls her name, halfway through changing out of her waitress uniform, and he takes full advantage of the open buttons when she launches herself into his arms.
"How was your day?" she asks him as he backs her towards their bedroom, his lips at her neck.
"It's a hell of a lot better now," he says, muffled by her skin. He feels her chuckle and her fingers comb through his hair, holding on tight when he bumps her up against the doorframe. "Did you have a good day baby?"
She struggles to answer him, distracted by his hands making short work of the rest of her buttons, but her smile is killer when he lifts his head and he kisses her in a cloud of happiness.
"Someone complained about Earl's eggs," she tells him as he slides a hand inside her bra and it's followed by a little moan when he rolls her nipple.
"I'll bet he was pissed," Deacon says, teasing his tongue around her earlobe. She grabs at the button of his jeans.
"You know how he gets about his eggs." He pushes her dress off her shoulders. "Annabelle had to tell him to take a time out." The dress hits the floor. God Deacon loves that thing - she looks hot as hell in it.
He looks down at her in the lacy underwear that stands between him and her skin, and curses under his breath. She's even hotter out of the dress. "Did he ban that customer?"
"For life." She flicks open his jeans and her hand is in his boxers a second later, and he stumbles with her towards the bed but they don't get that far and he pulls her down to the floor instead. "Did you get the Martin fixed up?"
"Uh huh." He unhooks her bra and licks his lips. "They asked me to do another one tomorrow, an old classic somebody brought in."
Rayna gasps as his mouth closes around her nipple and she arches her back, trying to balance on one arm while she pulls at his hair. "That's great, babe! I'm so happy about that for you." Her balance gives out and she falls onto her back, taking him with her. "They're about to learn they've hit the jackpot hirin' you - they've gone and found themselves a guitar whisperer."
Deacon laughs from his belly, and pulls back to see her face. How he loves her. He brushes her hair back from her forehead and just looks at her, and she melts visibly under his gaze. She loves him too.
The floorboards creak under them as he pushes into her over and over, and by the time they're satiated it's dark outside and rain has started coming down. The front door opens and Vince clatters about in the hallway, arriving home from work; Rayna and Deacon haven't made it up from the floor and are kissing softly, addicted to each other, as naked as can be and tangled together, the bedroom door wide open. Deacon can just reach it with his toe and he pushes it closed as Vince walks down the corridor to his room, shouting a hello and telling them to put each other down, they've got a gig to play. He doesn't need to get a glimpse of them in their post-sex heap to guess exactly how they're greeting each other after a long day at work - he knows them too well.
Rayna laughs, and it always sounds different right after sex. It's deeper in her throat, still husky with lust.
"We should shower," she says, and with one more kiss she starts to sit up. Deacon takes her head in his hands and threads his fingers into her hair, holding her there, and deepens the kiss until he can bring himself to release her.
/
The Underdog is busy, electric with the crowd of real music-lovers who frequent the bars in this part of town. In Nashville every night is a Saturday as far as gigs go, and it can be a feat to land them, the competition fierce. The community of musicians is unlike any other though, and no matter the jostle to get on the bill at the places that'll get you seen, they show up to support each other unwaveringly.
Deacon, Rayna and Vince get there early to meet up with the rest of their band and hang out with friends who've come by to see them play. It's a venue they gig at as regularly as they can land a slot and one of their favourites, and everyone is in high spirits, ready for some great music. The bar owner gives them a nod when it's time to start getting ready and Deacon tells Rayna he'll get their stuff out of his truck - it's raining heavily now and he doesn't want her to get wet outside. She smiles at him, and Vince downs the rest of his drink and heads out with him to help.
"Really comin' down out here," he says as they run across the lot. "It's gonna be like a wet t-shirt competition up on that stage."
Deacon laughs and lifts the trunk, and they grab their stuff quickly. "Got everythin'?"
"Yeah, looks like we do." Vince picks up his guitar case and slings it over his shoulder, and Deacon leans around to the driver's side to lock up. As he turns the key he hears Vince call his name, and when he looks up he's staring across the lot. "That dude - it's that dude from Arnold's. Fuck is he doin' here?"
"What?" Deacon looks at where he's pointing and sure enough, trenchcoat man is there, around the side of the building. He's just standing there, under a black umbrella, and he hasn't seen them - he's looking off to the side at something like he's waiting. "That's it," Deacon says, "I've fuckin' had it with this guy. It ain't a coincidence anymore - he's really startin' to piss me off."
He drops his guitar case and starts to stride across the parking lot in the man's direction, his fists clenched. The man doesn't look at him but he knows he sees him, he can tell; something about his demeanour shifts and he appears to check his watch. Before Deacon can reach him he puts the umbrella down and a car pulls up alongside him, too shiny not to stand out in a parking lot of beat-up trucks.
"Hey!" Deacon yells, but the man gets in the car and slams the door shut, and it drives off. The whole thing seems to happen in one fluid movement and he's gone before Deacon can do anything.
"Where'd he go?" Vince asks, hurrying up beside him carrying both of their guitars.
"I don't know. Got in someone's car and left." Deacon scowls. "I don't like that at all. What was he doin' here?"
"You don't think there's any chance he's a scout, do you? Lookin' for new bands? I mean they do wear suits and hang out at bars, I guess."
Deacon stares in the direction the car disappeared in. "If he is, I don't want Ray goin' anywhere near whatever kinda label he's scoutin' for. " He shakes himself. "Let's get back inside."
Something doesn't feel right, and he finds his heart hammering as he winds through the bar back to Rayna. She's right where he left her, chatting with their friends.
"Everythin' ok?" she asks when she sees his face.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's all fine baby." She doesn't look convinced and he doesn't want her to worry, so he kisses the side of her head and says, "We just thought there was a problem with some of the equipment, but it's all good."
Their set is nothing short of fire, every song hitting with the audience, and all other thoughts flee from Deacon's mind. Rayna is incredible, her stage presence getting more magnetic with every show she plays, and the new songs they're testing out land really well. It's one of Deacon's favourite gigs they've played so far.
They never go straight home after a show, always needing to wind down from the exhilaration, and they move over to a booth and carry on the fun. People send them drinks from across the bar, a regular occurrence in Nashville where audiences like to show their appreciation for the band, and they don't pay for another one all night.
"That last song, Already Gone, you should put that on the album," one of their friends says. "That song has 'number one record' written all over it."
Deacon grins at Rayna. "That's what I said. I think it should be the lead single."
"We gotta get a deal first," she squeaks, but her eyes are shiny and she can't stop smiling. He loves this, the way she vibrates with the music long after a gig, the high of a performance lighting her up from within.
"Soon," he tells her, and he knows it will be.
A girl in a Mötley Crüe t-shirt sidles up to their table and gives an awkward wave. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you guys were so good, I just loved y'all."
Rayna smiles at her. "Thanks, that's sweet of you."
"I just had to come over here and tell you." She leans closer to Rayna. "Hey, could I ask you a favour?"
"Of course."
"It's kind of a girl's favour," she says, and looks around the table of mostly guys. "Would you mind if I ask you in the bathroom?"
Rayna shrugs and slides out of the booth. "Sure. I've been needin' to pee anyway."
"Hey baby, you wanna get outta here when you get back?" Deacon asks.
"Yeah," she says, 'let's go home," and she kisses him on the cheek.
"I'll start loadin' the truck up."
The girl takes her arm. "Thanks for lettin' me borrow her," she tells Deacon, and she steers Rayna towards the corridor at the back of the bar where the bathrooms are. He watches them disappear.
"You and Rayna comin' out to The 5 Spot this weekend, Deac?" their friend Jason asks. "My band's playin', Wheeler too, and I think Nikki. Should be a good night."
"Sure man, wouldn't miss it. Y'all should come over for some food before the show, you know we're right around the corner." He glances in the direction of the bathrooms, but there are too many people in the way.
"That'd be awesome. Wanna get the grill goin' out in the backyard? I got a tonne of burgers at my place from the last time."
"What do you think that chick wants Rayna for?" Vince asks, elbowing Deacon. "What kinda stuff do girls do in the bathroom?"
"I don't know man, probably somethin' to do with make-up. Or maybe periods."
Vince looks suitably impressed. "To be a fly on that wall."
Deacon laughs, and gets up. "You ready to head out too?"
"Sure. I'll give you a hand gettin' packed up."
They take everything out to the truck and stack it into the trunk, little chunks of rust flying off when Deacon slams it. He reminds himself to get the paint touched up when he's next working at the garage with Vince, and pats the top of the trunk, wondering how the hell the whole thing hasn't given in yet. A car screeches down the road in the distance and he glances at his balding tyres - the rain has tailed off but the ground is covered in wide puddles and he hopes the roads aren't too bad on the way home.
As he locks the driver's side door something glints in the streetlamps. He reaches around to the window, right above the windshield wiper: it's jewellery.
"What the hell," he breathes, holding up a necklace. Rayna's necklace. The one she hadn't been able to find that morning. How did it get onto the front windshield of his truck?
"What's that?"
"It's Rayna's necklace," he says, but a flash of cold hits his stomach - something feels really off suddenly. Without another word he takes off across the lot, running back to the bar at full speed.
"Deac? What's wrong?" he hears Vince call behind him but he doesn't stop. He has no idea what's wrong but he wants to find Rayna and get the hell out of the place.
She isn't at the table when he gets to it, out of breath, and he looks around quickly. No sign of her.
"Hey," he says in a rush to Jason, "did Ray come back?"
"No, I thought she must have gone straight out to meet you. You okay man?"
Deacon doesn't answer; he darts for the bathrooms. The corridor is dark and gloomy, the walls painted black and adorned with out-of-date gig flyers, and the ladies' room is on the right. He hesitates for a moment, unsure what to do, until a girl walks past him to go in.
"'Scuse me," he says, and she pauses. "Could you... um, I think my girlfriend's in there - would you be able to check for me? She's slim, long red hair, wearin' a red plaid dress and cowboy boots."
The girl nods, giving him an odd look, and he thanks her as she pushes the door open, trying to crane around to see as much as he can before it slams shut in his face. She comes back out a few seconds later and shrugs at him. "There's no one in there, dude. Sorry."
He feels a stab of fear and isn't sure whether he manages anything in response, but he turns and stumbles back towards their table thinking maybe they just missed each other - it's busy, and people are pretty loud. He could easily have just not seen her in his hurry.
She still isn't at the table. He goes to the bar, aware that Vince has come back inside and is asking their friends what's happening. She isn't at the bar either, and he can't see the Mötley Crüe girl anywhere, so he leans over to grab the barman's attention.
"Hey Billy, you seen Rayna anywhere?"
"Not since y'all were over here before your set. You tried the ladies'?"
"Yeah," he says vaguely, already scanning the other side of the room. "She ain't in there. Thanks Billy."
He weaves in and out of groups of people, looks in booths, at the occupants of each table. She isn't at any of them.
With a racing pulse he goes back outside - maybe she's gone to his truck thinking he'll be there. When he has no luck there either he starts pacing between the other rows of cars.
"Deac," Vince calls, "what the hell's goin' on?"
"I can't find her, Vinny," he says, panicking now. "I can't find her anywhere."
"She can't be far, man, it ain't that big a place." Vince grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him. "Hey," he says firmly, "she's probably chattin' with that girl somewhere. It's not like she'd have peaced outta here without us."
"We were right outside, we would've seen her if she had left for some reason."
Vince considers the notion. "Unless there's a back way out," he says, and marches off to look around the side of the building. When he comes back into view he waves Deacon over. "There is - let's go take a look."
A narrow alleyway wraps around the one-storey brick building. It smells of cat piss and beer and they follow it to a small gravel yard, empty but for a few staff cars and some overflowing dumpsters. There's an open gate that leads onto a back road, not much more than a dirt track from what Deacon can see.
The yard is completely deserted. No sign of Rayna, no sign of the girl. A door at the back of the building is slightly ajar and Deacon climbs a couple of shaky wooden steps up to it. He pulls it open - it leads right into the corridor where the bathrooms are.
"Shit," he says, spiralling hard.
Vince tests the access bar on the interior side of the door - it can be opened easily from the inside. "Maybe Mötley came out here for a smoke and brought Rayna with her."
"And where are they now?" Deacon asks, feeling desperation rise up into his throat and suffocate him. It doesn't make any sense - she was right here. He was outside for minutes, she can't have just vanished in minutes. "Why would she have gone anywhere? That ain't Rayna at all."
Vince looks at the gate. "You don't think…"
Deacon's stomach drops. He follows Vince, who gingerly walks through it and looks around, but he can't bear to join him, too terrified of what he might find. The fear paralyses him as he stands there waiting.
"What the fuck," Vince says, out of view. He comes back into the yard with something in his hands and when he holds it up Deacon thinks he's going to be sick. It's Rayna's purse.
"Oh my God, Vinny," he breathes, and he has to crouch on the ground to stop himself from passing out. "Oh my God, where is she?"
Vince squats beside him and hands him the purse. It's wet with rainwater but undamaged, the little magnet closing intact. He opens it and looks inside - everything is still in there. Her wallet, a tube of lipstick. A strip of photobooth pictures of them together. The ground spins underneath him.
"It was on the floor, in a puddle," Vince says, his face sheet-white. He sounds faint, and somewhere in Deacon's mind he thinks this is like the documentaries on television. This is how they begin. They found her purse, lying on the ground in the mud...
"There is no fuckin' way Rayna would just go off with some stranger. You know she wouldn't. And she wouldn't drop her purse and just leave it there." Shock makes Deacon's whole body prickle painfully, and he struggles to breathe. "Someone's taken her. Someone's taken Rayna."
