September 12th, 1988

Rayna stared up at the night sky. It was mostly black, with stars dotting its expanse. Watty's ranch property was far enough away from everything that you could get a real look at the stars. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at the brightest one she could find.

"I'm 17 today, Momma," She whispered, "Right exactly now, actually. 9:07pm." She laughed a little, "I keep thinking of you in that hospital room, giving birth to me—you used to always tell me how my little lungs started working from the very second I came out." She inhaled sharply, feeling the cool night air fill her lungs, "They still do. Thank you for that." She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she didn't try to hold them back, "I know I say the same thing every year, but… it's still true every year. I wish you were here to see me now. To hold me, to sing me happy birthday at the exact moment I was born like you did every year before you..." Rayna sighed, "I wish you were here to see me sing, to see me write songs, to see me get paid to do what I love—I can't believe it sometimes. I think you'd be so proud, Momma." Rayna bit her lip, "I wish you were here to tell me what to do about this boy. About this… man. This guy." She laughed, "I wish you were here to tell me which of those I should use to describe him." She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, "Mostly, I just wish you were here to do anything. Anything at all, really." She smiled, "I miss you, and I love you more than all the stars in the sky."

She heard the sliding glass door open, and swiped at her tears one more time, sniffling a little. She turned to look at Deacon, thankful for the blackness that surrounded her.

"Hey," She said, as he walked over to where she was.

Apparently, he didn't need to see her to know she was upset, "You okay?" He asked, taking a seat in the chair next to her.

She tilted her head up to look at the stars just above them, "Yeah." She said, "Birthdays are hard." Her voice was a whisper.

"I know." He said, and tipped his head back to look at the stars, too.

She waited for him to say something—most people did. They tried to relate, tried to make it better, tried to be helpful. She appreciated that, but there were times when words weren't really necessary, especially when they couldn't fix anything in the first place. When Deacon didn't speak, she smiled, pleasantly surprised to be left with the silence and the knowledge that Deacon Claybourne wasn't like most people. Which, of course, she already knew.

She was still staring at the stars a few moments later when she spoke, "Do you ever just get overwhelmed by it?" She asked, "How… expansive the universe is?" She brought her knees up, resting her feet on the chair, and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to herself.

The corner of Deacon's mouth turned up, "All the damn time." He kept his eyes on the stars.

She brought her head down, resting her right cheek on her arm, and turned to look at him, "But then it feels crowded sometimes, too. Like there's not enough room in the world, y'know?"

Deacon turned his head to face her, "Yeah," He nodded, staring at her, "I sure do."

She smiled, and then she felt the sadness overwhelm her again. She was still looking at him, barely able to make out his features. "I miss my mom."

"I know." His voice was gentle, calm.

"Tandy's getting married, and it's got me thinking. It's been almost 5 years without my mom now, and so much has happened already." Rayna pressed her cheek into her forearm, hugged her legs a little tighter to her body, "And sometimes I just think about how the list of all the things she's going to miss just keeps getting longer, and longer. About how it'll never stop growing, that list."

Deacon stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back into the chair. "You don't think she sees?"

Rayna bit her lip, "Sometimes I'm sure she does. Sometimes I can feel her around me like she never left." She turned her gaze to the wall in front of her, resting her chin on her forearm, "Others, I'm not so sure."

Deacon sighed softly, "Then hold on to those moments where you can feel her." He told her, simply.

Rayna smiled, "Good idea."

Deacon laughed, "I have 'em sometimes." He crossed his legs at the ankles; after a few moments of silence, his voice cut through, "So, how does it feel to be 17?"

Rayna dropped her legs to the ground, and looked at him. She shrugged, "The same." She thought for a second, "Different."

Deacon chuckled, "Yeah. I think they're all like that, birthdays."

Rayna laughed, "You act like you've had so many more than I have."

"About to be three more than you have, actually." Anticipating her question, he laughed, "November 7th."

"Thank you for the balloon and the cupcake," Rayna said, "And the journal. Thank you for the journal." She said, even though she knew she'd already thanked him. It was so thoughtful, and it wasn't very often these days that someone did something thoughtful for her. She grinned, "I would like one more present, though…"

Deacon's eyebrows shot up, "And what's that?"

Rayna turned in her chair to more fully face him, "Come to my sister's wedding with me." She rushed the words out, as though saying it faster would make him more likely to agree.

Deacon let out a laugh, "Oh, no."

"Come on… please?" Rayna leaned forward in her chair, "She's getting married next month. I have to go, and I don't want to go alone."

He shook his head, "Ask Watty."

She bit her lip, "I already did. He said no." She thought about it for a moment, "Actually, he said it a lot more emphatically than you did just now, so I figure I have a better shot of convincing you."

He sighed, "Didn't your sister just get engaged?"

Rayna nodded, "Yeah. When you have a lot of money, you can pretty much make it happen that fast." She rolled her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see her in the dark. Her voice made it clear how ridiculous she thought it was.

Deacon laughed, "I wouldn't know anything about that."

She turned her head to the side, "No?"

He shook his head, "No. We grew up so poor. When I think about when I was a kid, I can't even remember ever not being hungry." He turned his head to look at the horizon, "Well, once. In first grade. Everyone was at recess, and I snuck in to the classroom and ate three lunches that weren't mine." Deacon's voice was quiet, "That was the first time I ever felt full." Deacon's voice was thick with memory, "The teacher knew it was me, but she didn't say anything. I think she knew things weren't so great at home." He shrugged, "But, hey, what we lacked in money, we made up for in love." He laughed bitterly.

She reached out and touched his knee, "Don't do that." She said, softly.

His gaze fell immediately to her hand on his knee, "Do what?" He asked, bringing his gaze to meet her eyes.

She removed her hand, and put it in her lap, suddenly self-conscious of her touch, "Make light of the situation." She squinted her eyes slightly, watching his face in the near-dark, "Tell me how you grew up, Deacon."

He sighed, but he wasn't mean when he spoke, "What do you want me to say, Rayna? I don't really like talking about it."

She chewed on her lip, "You don't have to, if you don't want to. I just…" Her voice was soft, almost embarrassed, "I want to know about you."

He stared at her, "Even if you don't like what you learn?"

"Even then." She said, her voice measured.

Deacon turned his head, knowing he couldn't speak if he was looking at her, even if he could barely see her. "My Dad was a mean son of a bitch. I don't just mean regular mean, either—I mean like…" He trailed off, searching for the word. "Evil." He shrugged, "Probably still is. He used to beat my Mama every night when he was drunk, sometimes even when he wasn't. Us, too, most nights, me and my sister." Deacon's voice was soft, but distant—like if he got too close to the memory, he wouldn't survive it this time. "My Mama, I loved her so much, but… I realize now, she just didn't know how to love me. Not really, you know?"

Rayna nodded, "Yeah," She whispered, "I do."

Deacon sighed, "Mothers are supposed to protect you."

Rayna nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat, "Yeah," She spoke around it, trying not to cry for Deacon, for herself.

Deacon dropped his gaze to his hands, rubbing them together, "She tried, though, in her own way." He shook his head, "She… had a lot going on, and when I really think about it, I know she tried."

"Sometimes that's all you can ask of people." Rayna whispered, her eyes wet with emotion.

Deacon stared at his hands, watching the way his fingers fit together. He nodded, his voice thick, "Sometimes it is."

The silence hung between them for a moment, before Rayna broke it with a soft "Thank you."

Deacon looked up at her, "For what?"

"For sharing that with me." When Deacon was quiet, Rayna smiled, "And for agreeing to go to the wedding with me."

Thankful for her swift change of subject, Deacon laughed a little, and held out his hands in front of him, "Hey, wait a minute, I didn't agree to that!"

Rayna sighed, "Come on, Deacon! I can't face Daddy alone."

Deacon shook his head, "Rayna… saying that he'll be meeting the Godfather of Nashville…that is not the way to convince a guy to do something for you."

Rayna laughed, "Well, I don't actually have very much experience in convincing guys to do things for me," She tapped her fingers on her knee.

"Oh," Deacon breathed out through his nose, "I somehow very much doubt that." Deacon chuckled, "Don't you have a friend you can take?"

"I…" Rayna trailed off, staring at the darkness in front of her. She really, really didn't. "Not really." She finished, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her sweatpants.

"I'll go." Deacon whispered, quietly.

Still looking ahead, Rayna smiled, "Thanks, Deacon."

Deacon sighed, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Rayna stood, and headed back to the sliding glass door. "No," She breathed it out, laughing a little as she opened the sliding glass door.

Deacon stood up and followed her, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, "You're a terrible liar, Rayna Jaymes," he said, smiling at her as he sat next to her on Watty's couch.

For the next hour and a half, they sat around talking with Sixteen Candles playing in the background—they ate M&Ms by the handful, tried combining junk foods that should never be combined (Fritos and M&Ms with a jellybean topper just really did not work together). When the movie was over, and the tape was rewinding, Deacon pulled out a lighter, lit the single candle on the cupcake, and sang a quiet rendition of 'Happy Birthday.'

Smiling, she closed her eyes to make a wish—from the time she was 9 years old, she'd made the same wish: to be a successful country singer. It had evolved over the years, gotten longer (at 10, she outlined the various rhinestone encrusted clothing she wanted to wear as said country singer), shorter (at 11, just a country singer). When she was 13, she wished for her mother back. She knew it was impossible, but she didn't feel right wishing for anything else that year. But every year, except for 13, she'd wished for the same thing.

As she opened her eyes to blow out the candle, she felt a nervous rush of energy as she realized that she'd wished for something else entirely this year. She smelled the scent of the blown-out candle, and glanced at Deacon.

"Did you make a good wish?" He asked her, removing the candle.

She blushed, but smiled at him, "I think so." She took the cupcake he proffered.

She broke the cupcake in half and held one half out to Deacon.

"Thanks," Deacon said, taking the cupcake and biting into it.

When the cupcake was gone, Deacon looked at the clock on the VCR – 12:01.

"Well, since your birthday's over, I guess I better get on home." He stood up and grabbed his guitar case, heading for the door.

Rayna stood and followed him, "Thanks again, Deacon." She said, pulling the door open for him.

He turned around to face her, "You're welcome, Ray." He said, staring at her.

Rayna felt her blood rushing through her body as Deacon stood, staring at her. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and she briefly wondered if he could hear it, too; his eyes flickered to her lips, and he chuckled softly.

"You've got a little…" He said, bringing his thumb up to her bottom lip. "Frosting," he said, wiping it away.

Rayna flushed, "Thanks," She said, running her tongue over her lips, watching as Deacon's eyes followed the path of her tongue.

He leaned forward, and she held her breath, sure he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes, and tilted her head up slightly—she felt Deacon's hand on the back of her head, and then felt his lips press softly against her forehead.

"Night, Ray." He whispered against her forehead, "Happy birthday."

She felt him pull away, and when she opened her eyes he was walking towards his truck, his guitar case in his right hand. Rayna raised her hand to her forehead, feeling the spot where Deacon's lips had just been. As he got in his truck and drove away, Rayna leaned against the wall on Watty's porch, her hand resting lightly over her heart, willing it to slow down, knowing that it wouldn't.