August 13th, 1988

Rayna felt like she'd been walking on a cloud all day, ever since Watty told her the news. She'd been wrapping up a small rehearsal with Deacon and one of the other guys at Watty's house, when Watty pulled her off to the side.

"What are you doing next Friday night?" Watty asked, his hands grasping her arms.

Rayna smiled, "Nothing. Why, what have you got?" She asked, ready to hear the news.

"Well," He said, drawing out the word a bit, "How would you like to play a gig?" He let her arms go.

Rayna laughed, "You know I'm always up for that!"

Watty nodded, "How would you like to play a gig… for a little money?"

Rayna froze, her mouth dropped open, "What?" She said, staring at Watty. "You got me… a paid gig?" She was smiling, "Are you serious?"

Watty chuckled, "Very serious, my little songbird."

"Oh, Watty!" Rayna threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, "I can't believe it! My first paying gig!"

"The guys are all ready, so we just have to work out a twenty minute set-list, and we'll be good to go." Watty smiled, "Come by tomorrow, we can figure it out then."

Rayna nodded, and hugged him again. Since then, she'd been elated, daydreaming about the future and what a paid gig might mean. She spent the afternoon lying on her bed, writing lyrics she'd been hearing in her head over the last few weeks. She'd been struck with a new inspiration, and she didn't know where it came from. She actually knew where it came from, but the scribbles in her journal still let her pretend it was a mystery.

She was at dinner with her father now, something he insisted they do together at least once every week, whether she wanted to or not. She didn't mind it so much tonight, though, given the day she'd had and the news she'd received.

They were at a fancy French restaurant that served food she didn't even really start liking until last year. Her father was seated across from her, browsing the appetizer menu like he didn't just order the same exact thing every week.

She stared at her father for a moment, wondering how she'd come from him and yet ended up so incredibly different. Lamar Wyatt was a formidable man, in stature and in personality—he filled up the space allotted to him, and then some. Wherever they went in Nashville, people knew him.

And her, by extension. They couldn't get through a meal without Daddy taking at least a little break to do some business. It usually bothered Rayna, but tonight when the host came over to tell them that someone wanted to see her father, it didn't even faze her. She just sat at the table, waiting for her father's return, running over ideas for next Friday's set list in her head.

Lamar peered over the menu, "Do you know what you want yet?"

Rayna nodded, and Lamar waved the waiter over. After they ordered, they lapsed into silence. They weren't talking much tonight, which wasn't actually unusual. There had always been mostly silence between them, but usually Rayna would try to force some conversation about the weather or about movies, but she was too busy thinking to do that tonight.

"So," Lamar said, his voice booming even in the quiet restaurant, "Next Friday is your sister's engagement party," He picked up his wine and took a sip, "You're expected to be there, of course."

Rayna's face fell, and her stomach lurched, "Daddy, I can't come next Friday, I have… plans!" She said, not wanting to lie but knowing that telling her father the truth would make things much, much worse.

Lamar set his wine glass down and folded his hands in front of him, "Rayna," His voice was stern, "You have a family obligation that is exponentially more important than whatever little plans you've made." He narrowed his eyes, "Your sister is getting married. You will be there to support her at the celebration of the impending marriage."

Rayna sighed. Tandy had gone and met the son of some business mogul while she was studying at Vanderbilt—Rayna hadn't even met Samuel Hampton, except once when she was visiting Tandy at her dorm. He seemed alright, but Rayna wasn't sure why Tandy felt the need to go and marry the guy already.

"Daddy," Rayna took a sip of her water, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in her stomach, "I'll talk to Tandy. She'll understand, I know she will." Her voice rose at the end, her desperation breaking through.

"We're not going to discuss this now, Rayna," He said, "But you'll be going to that party." He smoothed his black hair back, taming the slightly grey flyaways at his temple.

They ate in silence—Rayna didn't really touch her food, cycling through dread, apprehension, anger, and sadness instead. The ride home was silent, too, but Rayna felt the rage building inside of her the more she thought about how dismissive her father was of her opinion—of her, in general.

It wasn't anything new, of course, but this paid gig was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time, and she knew Tandy would understand if she couldn't make the engagement party.

When they got home, Rayna broached the subject again in the foyer. "Daddy, I can't go to Tandy's party, I have something really important to do next Friday," She said, her voice quiet. In her sixteen years, she'd learned that yelling at her father rarely got the job done.

Her father loosened his cufflinks and slid his jacket off, hanging it on the coatrack by the door. "Fine, Rayna, I'll bite. What is so important that you need to miss your only sister's engagement party?" He turned to look at her.

Rayna bit her lip, "I… just… I made plans, and I can't break them."

Lamar laughed, but it wasn't warm—his laughs rarely were. "You don't honestly think you're going to get out of this party and not tell me why do you?"

She sighed, knowing she was going to have to tell the truth, "I… have a paid gig, Daddy. It's my very first one, ever. It's a really big deal, and I can't miss it."

Lamar narrowed his eyes, "I should have known this had something to do with music." He spat the word out.

"Look, I know you don't understand this whole music thing, but it means a lot to me." Her words were measured.

Lamar smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, "Means more to you than your own family, it seems." He smirked at her.

"Daddy, that's not fair. You know I care about my family." The truth was, she did. She loved Tandy, even though they were completely different people. She even loved her father, in spite of how hard he made things between them sometimes. "I just… love music, and this is a big deal. It's a huge deal! It's my first paid gig!" She said, putting her hands out in front of her, "I wish you could see that." Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

"What I see Rayna, is you choosing music over your own family. For what? Twenty dollars?" Lamar stared at her, "Thirty?"

Rayna shrugged, "I don't know how much, actually, it's not important; someone wants to pay me to play music! Why can't you see how amazing that is for me?" She shrugged, "Watty White set this up for me, I can't let him down either." Rayna looked at her father.

Lamar's face grew dark, and Rayna watched his features change, watched as rage settled in on his face. She couldn't remember ever seeing him quite this mad. "You are not going to be playing music next Friday night," He said, his voice echoing in the foyer, "Or any other night, for that matter."

Rayna flinched at the sound of his voice; he hadn't yelled at her in a long time. She'd seen this side of her father before, but it came so unexpectedly tonight that she wasn't able to prepare herself for it. She felt herself growing angry, she felt the tears of frustration spring to her eyes.

"Yes," Rayna said, "I am." Her voice shook, but she stared her father right in the eye. "You just want everyone around you to be as miserable as you are! You just want me to be as miserable as you are!" She shouted, her voice reverberating in the small room.

"You're living in my house," He said, stepping in front of her, "So as long as you stay here, you have to live by my rules."

"Maybe I don't want to live in your house anymore." She said, staring at him.

He returned her gaze, and then lifted his chin, "If that's what you want." He pointed at the door, "The door's right there." He turned and walked up the stairs, his footsteps heavy.

"Oh, I know where it is," Rayna shouted at him, her voice filled with anger, "I've been watching you walk out of it for pretty much my whole life."

Lamar paused at her words, halfway up the stairs, but he didn't turn to look at her; he just shook his head, and continued walking.

Rayna ran to her room, packed a duffle bag with some clothes, pulled on her favorite brown cowboy boots, and headed out the door.

. . .

When she saw the little house in the near distance, the tears started again. She'd been walking for about an hour—her anger had carried her halfway, but she was growing weary now. The sun was down, and she shifted her duffle bag to her other shoulder, trying to bear the weight that became significantly heavier the longer she walked. She was thankful she remembered the way, having only been to his house once while he grabbed his guitar. She chalked it up to her impeccable memory, but she knew it was because he had been of great interest to her in the past few weeks.

As she reached the end of the walkway, she saw him sitting on the porch, a guitar cradled in his lap; the dulcet tones hit her ears and she smiled for the first time in three hours. She started up the walk, and Deacon looked up to see her when she was about halfway to the porch. She stopped just outside the reach of the porch light, and he stopped playing.

"Well, if it isn't Rayna Jaymes, all the way from Belle Meade; didn't know your kind stopped on this side of the tracks." He teased.

She noticed the bottle of Jameson next to him on the porch, its cap haphazardly stuck on. She cocked her head to the side and considered him, "You sure do drink a lot."

One corner of his mouth quirked up, "Do I?" He asked.

Rayna shrugged even though he couldn't see her in the dark, "Seems like it, sometimes."

He smiled, staring at her outline, "Well. Maybe I'll quit."

Rayna sighed, and then stepped closer to him. The dim porch light illuminated her form, her white eyelet sundress bright even in the relative darkness. As his eyes landed on her face, he could immediately tell she'd been crying.

His voice was gentle, "Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, putting his guitar down on the porch.

She slung her duffle bag off her shoulder and let it hit the sidewalk. She sat on the second step of the porch and looked at him. "Daddy kicked me out." Her eyes were red around their rims, and she sniffled a little at the end of her sentence, despite her best efforts.

He dropped his pick on the porch, "What happened?"

She told him the story—all the things her father had said, all the things she'd yelled back at him.

"You don't think you guys will make up?" He questioned, stretching his legs out in front of him, down the porch stairs.

Rayna shook her head, "It was different this time," She sighed, "We've fought before, but… it was different this time." She finished. She fidgeted with the top of her boot, "Besides, I don't think I actually want to go back there." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "You must think I'm so stupid."

Deacon's mouth fell open a little, "Hey—wait, what?" He was confused by her logic.

She laughed a little at his expression, noticing how good it felt to laugh, "Well," She said, hanging on the 'l' at the end, "I basically just ran away." She looked at him, "From a mansion in Belle Meade."

His voice was gentle, "I don't think you're stupid, Ray." He assured.

The diminutive hung in the air between them; it was the first time he'd used it. Rayna felt herself hoping it wouldn't be the last.

She shook her head, "People must think I'm so stupid—I have this life handed to me, and I just… reject it and run towards pretty much the exact opposite."

Deacon turned his head to look at her, "You aren't stupid." He said, smiling, "And I ain't people."

Rayna laughed then, "No," She agreed, "You sure aren't." She hadn't yet decided exactly what Deacon was, but she knew he damn sure wasn't like everyone else.

Deacon crossed his legs at the ankles, his palms pressing into the porch to support his weight, "Do you need a place to stay? We ain't got much room, but…"

Rayna found herself looking at his biceps as they supported his weight, noticing their definition through his t-shirt. "No, that's very sweet, but… I think you and Chad are cramped enough as it is." She smiled, "I called Watty from a payphone on my way over here, he's going to let me stay at his place for awhile." She glanced down at her feet, "I might need a ride, though."

Deacon followed her gaze, "Those boots weren't made for walking, huh?" He grinned.

She let out a small hiss of air through her teeth, a sort of laugh at his bad joke, "Not really."

He shrugged, "I can give you a ride."

Rayna glanced at the bottle of Jameson sitting beside him, "How much of that have you had?"

"Not much, yet." He brought his feet up and sat up straighter on the porch, "I was gonna start right after I finished this song," He tipped his head in the direction of the notebook, "Besides, I'd never drive you around if I'd been drinking."

She looked at him, turning her head to the side—there was something about the way he said that. It made her happy and sad at the same time, like he'd be careful with her, but not with himself.

She nodded, "I know." She said, quietly, looking out at the street. It was so much darker here than at home—well, not home anymore, so much. Her father's house. She looked at the house behind Deacon, a tiny house he rented with Chad, and smiled, then she winced.

Noticing her expression, Deacon leaned his head towards her, "What?"

Rayna buried her head in her hands, "Nothing," She said, the word muffled by her fingers, "It's just… I'm gonna need to get a job, I'm gonna need to get a place, I'm gonna need to…"

"You're gonna need to take a breath." Deacon interrupted her list. He placed a hand on her bare knee, and Rayna froze, peeking at his hand on her knee between her fingers. His hand was much tanner than her skin, the contrast evident even in the relative darkness of the porch. He squeezed her knee a little, and then dropped his hand.

She looked at his face through her hands, trying to discern if he felt the same little jolt she had at their touch.

"I have a little money saved up, but…" At his look, she dropped her hands from her face, "What?"

He threw his hands out in front of him, "I didn't say anything."

Rayna bit back a smile, "Let me guess, you thought I'd never worked a day in my life."

Deacon chuckled, "I didn't say anything." He repeated.

She swung her body to the side, lightly nudging his knee with her shoulder, "Well, I have a bit of money saved up, but…" She trailed off, returning her gaze to the darkened street in front of her.

"Well, after next week, you're going to be a paid musician." Deacon said, closing the notebook beside him.

She smiled, "Yeah, but aren't they always saying music doesn't pay the bills?"

Deacon laughed, "They are, yeah. But, I don't know…" He pretended to think about it, "For you, it just might." He winked, "And then some."

Rayna smiled, then she eyed his notebook, "What're you writing about?"

Deacon didn't look at her, "A girl." He answered.

Rayna felt her heart drop into her stomach—and she felt a rush of jealousy wash over her. She'd sworn he was about to kiss her a week or so ago outside of that bar, but it hadn't come up since. Maybe she'd read it all wrong; maybe she was just attributing her own desires to him. The thought made her sad.

Deacon smiled, and turned to look at her, "And my truck." He pushed himself up from the porch, "Come on," he said, holding his hand to help her up, "I'll give you a ride to Watty's."

"Thanks." Smiling, she took his hand and stood up, feeling a rush of disappointment when he let go of her hand.

She reached down to pick up her duffle bag, but he stopped her.

"I'll get that," He said, picking it up and hoisting it on his shoulder. He walked her to his truck, tossed the duffle bag in back, and pulled open the door for her.

Rayna smiled shyly at him as she slipped past him into the truck, "Thanks."

He nodded, and closed the door.

As he made his way around the truck, Rayna couldn't stop her mind from working. After the night she had, she should feel upset and hopeless—but, when she really thought about it, she didn't. She felt excited, and a little scared. Mostly, she felt free. As Deacon slid in behind the driver's seat she realized that it was a new feeling—she'd never felt free in her entire life. As Deacon turned the key in the ignition and put it into drive, she glanced at him and felt the butterflies return to her stomach. She tried to tell herself they were making an appearance because of the new journey she was about to embark upon—one that hopefully led to her making a career out of music.

But, as he fiddled with the radio, the warm night breeze throwing her hair around her face as it rushed in from the windows, Rayna knew the truth. She tried not to be scared by the fact that she'd rather be sitting here beside him rambling down the road in his beat-up pickup truck than sitting inside the biggest mansion in Belle Meade.