October 1st, 1988

Deacon sat at the table watching Rayna as she casually talked to the people around them—she did so with ease, with a confidence that was beyond her years. Their tablemates had praised them for their performance, and it did not go unnoticed by Deacon that it was the first time all evening they'd even glanced at him. He'd offered a small smile, and Rayna issued a shy 'thank you,' but he could tell she was pleased. So was he—the music they made together seemed to touch people in a way he wouldn't have expected. When he thought about it, it touched him in a way he wouldn't have expected—certainly in a way he hadn't planned for.

When a slow waltz floated through the air, Rayna turned to look at Deacon. "Do you want to dance?" She asked him, her eyes searching his.

About the last thing Deacon wanted to do was stand up in front of all these people and dance—but he was surprised to find that the thought of it with her didn't seem so bad. Doing anything with her didn't seem so bad when he really thought about it—even sitting here at this wedding surrounded by the upper crust of Nashville, so cozy in their ivory towers.

"I can't dance to this," Deacon laughed, smiling at her.

Rayna rolled her eyes a bit, "It's a waltz, I'll teach you." At his hesitance, she smiled, "It's really simple, I promise."

Deacon raised his eyebrows, "You know how to waltz?"

Rayna shrugged, "I took Cotillion."

Deacon bit back a smile, the news not at all surprising to him. "Of course you did." He chuckled a little when she hit him playfully on the arm.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dance floor, turning over her shoulder to him she spoke over the music, "It's customary for the lady to lead the gentleman to the dance floor."

"Is that right?" When she nodded, he grinned, "That may be the first time anyone has ever called me a gentleman."

Laughing, she put her hand on his shoulder and laced her fingers through his. His hand came around her waist, his thumb pressing lightly into her hipbone, just as it had the day he kissed her. His thumb made a tiny circle and he smiled at her, enjoying the way the blush crept up her neck to settle on her face. She was remembering the way his thumb pressed against her that day, too.

"It's a box step." She said, and then she showed him, moving even slower than the music.

He picked it up remarkably well, though she wasn't surprised. He had a feel for rhythm, so it was only sensible that he could catch on to even the rhythm of a stuffy waltz. Eventually, he began leading her around the dance floor, comfortably guiding her in the simple step. When the music changed and the band picked up a soft slow song Deacon hesitated for only a moment before pulling her closely to him. She reached her arms up around his neck as they swayed slowly to the music. Rayna rested her chin on Deacon's shoulder, and he smiled, enjoying the feeling of holding her in his arms.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and his step stuttered a bit when he saw Lamar Wyatt's beady eyes staring at him from across the room. Deacon turned Rayna slightly to the side, and slid them behind another couple on the floor, hoping for a bit of shelter from the gaze—he didn't look at Lamar again, but he could feel his stare burning into him.

"So," Deacon said into Rayna's ear, "I've met your father…" He trailed off.

Rayna pulled back from him slightly and met his eyes—she rolled hers a bit, "Yeah, sorry about that. Daddy can be a bit… harsh."

Deacon laughed, "A bit?"

Rayna shook her head and brought her chin to his shoulder again.

"Any other relatives I need to watch out for?" He asked, sliding his hand from her hip to lower back.

Rayna thought about it, "No," She shook her head, her hair tickling his chin, "No one to watch out for, but I have to introduce you to Gramma Carol. She's my favorite relative of all time." Rayna smiled and then threw her head back in a laugh, "Fair warning, she will definitely wrap you in a big hug during which she will rock you from side to side, and she will definitely kiss you on the cheek and leave a big lipstick print."

Deacon's eyes traced the column of her neck, and he cleared his throat. "Is she your grandma?" It was kind of a stupid question, but he was so mesmerized by the milky skin exposed to him, thinking how much he'd like to kiss her there, that he didn't have time to think about not asking it.

As the music died down and they stepped to the perimeter of the dance floor, Rayna shook her head, "No. Actually… I don't actually know how she's related, but she's just always been around, and everyone calls her Gramma Carol." She smiled, "But I'm her favorite."

Deacon chuckled, "I have no doubt about that." He could certainly see how that would be the case. She was rapidly becoming his favorite, too.

As if on cue, Gramma Carol appeared in front of them holding a large glass of white wine, "Rayna!" She exclaimed boisterously, "Come here, my baby!" She opened her arms, and Rayna stepped into them. The woman's smile lit up her entire face, the deep-set wrinkles telling her story—one of laughter, one of pain.

Gramma Carol squeezed Rayna, and pulled back to look at her face, "Look at you, my sweet baby!" She gripped Rayna's arms, "You look beautiful. You look like you should be a model for those dresses!" She placed five rapid-fire kisses all over Rayna's face, and then slung her arm around her shoulders and turned to face Deacon. "And who is this handsome fellow?" Gramma Carol asked, smiling widely.

Rayna laughed, "Gramma Carol, this is my—" Rayna's eyes widened slightly and her face turned a very, very bright red as she realized what she had been about to say, "Deacon." She rushed to correct herself, and then looked directly down at the floor.

Gramma Carol smiled as she released Rayna, "Well," She put her arms around Deacon and rocked him from side to side in a hug, then planted a big kiss on his cheek, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Rayna's Deacon." She squeezed him again, and then pulled back to look at him, giving him a wink, "That song you did earlier," She looked between Rayna and Deacon, and her powder blue eyes got a little misty, "Reminded me of my Jack." She shook her head and smiled, then leaned over and kissed Rayna on the head, "Thank you, my baby."

The band began playing a fast tune, and Gramma Carol smiled, holding up her wine, letting out a raucous burst of laughter, "Time to dance, babies!" She said, shuffling her feet in place a bit before she turned toward the dance floor and started dancing by herself, her hips swaying to a slightly different beat than the band was playing.

Rayna turned to Deacon and grinned, "See?"

Deacon laughed, "Oh, I see."

They meandered outside to discover the night had grown a little chilly. There was a bench off to the right of the front door, and they sat there for a moment, letting the silence settle between them. Deacon felt his heartrate quicken and sighed. He wasn't used to feeling nervous around women, certainly not seventeen-year-old women.

He kept his eyes in front of him, staring at the brick wall that lined the perimeter of the country club. It was dark, but the path lights illuminated it, the shadows of the trees dancing on the ground in the light breeze. The bench was hard underneath him, but it felt solid—he needed that when he was next to Rayna.

"This was my first wedding." Deacon said, breaking the silence.

Rayna turned to look at him, "Really? What'd you think?"

He shrugged, "It was nice."

Rayna nodded, "Yeah, it was." She turned her head to look at the trees in the distance, "Marriage is a bit of a weird concept, isn't it?"

Deacon laughed, "Yeah, a bit. You just pick someone and go—that one, forever."

Rayna chuckled, "Exactly. Forever is such a long time."

Deacon brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest. He used to think so too, but these past few months he'd started to think that maybe forever wasn't long enough.

"I hadn't ever really even thought about marriage before Tandy got engaged." She sighed, "Do you think you'd ever get married?" She asked him, her voice quiet.

Deacon didn't look at her, he was afraid that if he did his eyes would give him away—his eyes had a tendency to do that, especially around Rayna he was learning. "I never really thought about it. Maybe. With that one, forever." He uncrossed his arms and slouched down in the bench a bit, "What about you?"

Rayna smiled, "I don't know." She laughed, "I don't think I'd make a very good wife." She crinkled her nose a little at the word. "Standing in the background hasn't really ever been my thing."

Deacon laughed, and turned to look at her, "Yeah, I've noticed that." He turned his eyes to the brick wall again, "Rayna, I think you'd make a damn good anything you put your mind to." He cleared his throat, "And a wife don't always have to stand in the background."

Rayna smiled and let out a small laugh, "Well, then I guess I might someday with that one, forever."

The silence took over again, moving between them like an old friend. Deacon was amazed that the silence between them never seemed awkward or like something either one of them had to rush to fill. They could just sit in it if they wanted, comfortably.

"What were you going to call me back there to Gramma Carol?" Deacon asked, his voice hushed.

Rayna leaned her head back against the stucco of the wall. She smiled a little, "I was going to call you my friend." She whispered, bringing her head back up and glancing at him. She reached up and began removing bobby pins from her hair one by one, setting them on the arm of the bench.

"Yeah?" Deacon smiled, but his voice was serious.

Rayna laughed, "Yeah." She pulled another bobby pin out, "That's what we are, right?" She asked him, her voice soft.

Deacon turned to look at her just as she released the last bobby pin and her hair came tumbling down to her shoulders, slightly curled and slightly wild from the complicated knot it had been in. She let out a little groan and closed her eyes, shaking her hair a little before she opened her eyes to see Deacon watching her intently.

"Yeah," He breathed, "That's what we are." He leaned slightly forward, pleased to notice that she mirrored him, "Friends." He reached out and pressed his lips to hers, sliding his hand into her hair. He smiled against her mouth when she began to kiss him back, and then his stomach dropped when he felt her pressing the tip of her tongue into his mouth, experimenting. She tasted like honey, and a bit like champagne, and all he could think was that he wanted more. He slid his tongue over hers, and nudged her mouth open wider with his lips, biting her bottom lip a little before sliding his tongue into her mouth again.

His heart lurched, and he pulled back, a little breathless. It took Rayna a moment to open her eyes to look at him, and when she did, Deacon brought his thumb to her face running it along her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and turned her cheek into his hand.

"Friends." He whispered, as the pad of his thumb ran along her soft skin.

Rayna smiled and opened her mouth to speak when a loud voice rang out, echoing off the stucco of the building behind them.

"Rayna!" It was Tandy, and she stumbled into the moonlight, tripping over her dress a little. "I need your help." She said, shooting a knowing look to her sister. "Hi, Deacon." She said, smiling a little.

Deacon waved and smiled, "Hi." He shook his head a little, wondering just how much champagne it took Tandy to get that scornful look she had for him out of her eye. Apparently at least a bit more than she'd already had.

Rayna leaned over and whispered, "I have to go help Tandy in the bathroom." At his look, she laughed, "Wedding dress thing. Don't ask."

"Wasn't gonna." He smiled as he watched Rayna get up and head toward her sister, leaving the bobby pins on the arm of the bench.

Deacon reached across the bench and picked a bobby pin up, twirling it around in his fingers like he did with guitar picks. The action calmed him, helped him think. He closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the stucco, enjoying the rough feel of the plaster on his scalp. It reminded him of Rayna's fingernails, though he much preferred that sensation to this one. He smiled, and let out a light sigh. What he had been dreading all week—this wedding—had actually turned out to be a rather nice evening. Though he suspected that any evening that included Rayna Jaymes pressed against him and her mouth under his would shape up to be a pretty good night, generally speaking. A pretty great night, actually.

He'd felt something different when he kissed her tonight; he'd felt it when he kissed her last week, too, and he was still trying to sort out what it was. Tonight, it became a little clearer—he felt the innate urge to protect her. He hadn't felt that way about anyone or anything in a very, very long time. The thought unnerved him a bit, and he felt scared to follow the feeling to its logical conclusion, afraid of what he would learn. What he was already starting to learn.

A deep voice broke him from his reverie, "Nice night, isn't it?"

Deacon stilled as a feeling of dread spread through him as he slowly opened his eyes, bringing his head away from the stucco. When he did, he saw Lamar Wyatt standing directly in front of him, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead patio light, his hands behind his back.

Deacon sat up a bit, "Yes, sir, it's a very nice night."

"Take a walk with me?" Lamar said it like it was a question, but Deacon could tell that it wasn't.

Deacon stood and shoved the bobby pin into his pocket, following a step or two behind Lamar until they got to the same path he and Rayna had walked down earlier in the evening. Walking it with Lamar felt decidedly more ominous.

Lamar kept his gaze straight ahead, "What are you doing with my daughter?" His voice was deep, serious.

Deacon swallowed, "I'm…" He trailed off, his nerves on edge, "I'm playing guitar for her." He finished, shrugging a bit. It was the truth, at least. Part of it, anyway.

Lamar smiled, but it held no mirth, "Is that what they're calling it these days? Is that what you were doing on this trail earlier?" He indicated his head toward the spot where he had found them kissing. "Playing guitar for her?" His voice was stern, "Is that what you were doing on that bench?" Lamar stopped walking and turned to look at Deacon.

Deacon stopped walking but didn't speak, he couldn't find any words. He didn't even really know what he was doing with Rayna. She got invited to weddings at Country Clubs; she had probably never known what it was like to be hungry. But whatever he was doing with her, the truth was he liked it.

In the hanging silence, Lamar fixed him with a hard stare. "You thinking you can date my daughter is absolutely beyond the pale." Lamar smirked, "She's going to see past your charm, past your rough exterior that's drawing her in now, and when she does, she won't like what she sees." Lamar pulled a manila folder out from behind his back, and Deacon briefly wondered how he hadn't seen it before. "As I said, I know who you are, Deacon Claybourne." Lamar reached out and handed him the manila folder.

Deacon took it, astonished to find that his hand was shaking a bit as he pulled it back and opened the cover. Flipping through the pages, he felt himself start to get a little dizzy. Memories connected to the images in the folder raced through his mind: his Mama's black eyes, his father's mugshots from when somebody would finally get scared he was actually going to kill her, Deacon's mugshot for drunk and disorderly, his mugshot for assault.

"I know who your Daddy is too, Deacon." Lamar lifted his hand in a wave to a couple passersby, then lowered his voice, "And I know you're just like him." Lamar reached his thick finger over the folder and placed it on a picture of his Mama with a black eye. "Stay away from my daughter." Lamar spun on his heel, and walked back to the reception.

Deacon slammed the manila folder shut, fighting the urge to throw it into the bushes. He fought the urge to kick the brick wall as the rage coursed through him. He pressed his eyes shut and balled his fist, his knuckles turning white with his rage. The blood was rushing in his head and he could scarcely hear over the sound, his ears throbbing.

"Deacon?" In the back of his mind, he heard Rayna's voice calling to him. He opened his eyes and saw her walking down the trail towards him.

He tried to move, but his feet wouldn't let him. Suddenly, she was right in front of him. She moved her hand to grasp his arm through his jacket. Her touch propelled him backward, and he yanked his arm away.

"Deacon?" She said again, her brow furrowing in the middle. "Are you okay?" She asked, concern working its way into her face. "What's that?" She looked at the folder in his hand.

"I…" Deacon cleared his throat, "I have to go." He said, refusing to look her in the eye as he headed back down the trail toward the parking lot. He walked away from her quickly.

"Deacon!" She called to him, following behind him, her heels slowing her progress.

"I have to go, Rayna!" He shouted, not turning around to look at her. He half ran to the parking lot, clutching the folder in his hand.

Deacon slid into the driver's side of his truck, threw the folder onto the passenger seat with force and shoved his keys into the ignition. Hearing the engine rev up, he slammed it into reverse, looked behind him, and backed out of the parking lot.

Driving on the dark winding road from the country club, Deacon's knuckles gripped the steering wheel. He was mad; angrier than he had been in a long, long time. As images of his Mama flashed in his mind: her eye swollen closed, her lip cut, her arm in a cast; he had to admit that more than anything, he was scared. He heard his father's voice in his head: you're gonna be just like me.

What Lamar shook in him was his own fear—his fear that Lamar was right, that his own father was right. He was scared that he did have his father's blood in his veins.