October 4th, 1988

"Connie Corleone called." Chad pushed his hair back out of his eyes, "Again." He was sitting on the porch of their house, a lit cigarette dangling from his hand. He was hung the fuck over. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened at that wedding, man?" He looked at Deacon who was sitting across from him on the porch, his head in his hands, "Not that I don't enjoy getting shitfaced with you every night and sleeping with all the girls you turn on but then turn down, because I do. And thanks, by the way, Mindy was a real treat last night.But something happened at that wedding, and I'd sure as hell like to know what it was." He took a long drag from his cigarette.

Deacon rubbed his temples; his head was throbbing. It was five in the evening and they'd just woken up. "Does that make me Carlo in this situation?" He asked, his voice a little raw from the night. Chad was completely unaware of how closely he'd hit home with his idle reference. Deacon stood up, opened the door, grabbed the manila folder and slapped it on the porch in front of Chad. "Vito reminded me of my place."

Chad picked up the folder and opened it, letting out a low whistle as he flipped through the photos. "And you didn't tell Rayna about this?" Chad asked. At Deacon's look, he continued, "And you're not going to tell Rayna about this."

Deacon lay down on the porch and closed his eyes, "There ain't nothin' to tell."

Chad closed the folder and slapped it back down on the porch. "Oh, there ain't?"

Deacon reached his hand out and pushed an empty beer bottle, watching as it rolled off the porch and landed in the bushes, "Nope." He popped the 'p,' closing his eyes again.

Chad eyed him suspiciously, "Oh, okay, just checking. 'Cause a heart full of sorrow paints a lonely tapestry."

Deacon leaned up and opened one eye at him, "You're an idiot."

Chad stubbed his cigarette out on the side of the porch railing. He dropped the butt on the porch and then wiped away the ash from the railing with his fingers, "Well, even an idiot like me can see that your place is on stage next to Rayna."

Deacon put his head back down, "No it ain't. I got no business even thinking about a girl like her."

Chad leaned his head back, "That may be true, but with these thin walls I sure hear you thinking about her damn near every night." Chad grinned, pleased with his innuendo.

Deacon sat up, grabbing his head with the effort as it swam around him, "Shut up, Chad." But he was smiling for the first time in three days. "Go back to talking in movie quotes and song lyrics." He grinned, "Besides, it ain't every night."

Chad threw his head back and laughed, then grabbed his stomach and stabled himself against the porch railing. "It's damn close to every night." His face turned serious and he tapped his fingers on the manila folder, "Look, I get it. I do. But, man, you have something with Rayna. I don't know about all the other shit, but that music you guys make, that's something." He stood up, "So you can't let a guy like Lamar fucking Wyatt take that away from you." Chad looked at him, turning his head to the side, "Or at least don't let him take it away from Rayna." When Deacon didn't respond, Chad walked up the steps and clapped Deacon on the shoulder, "You know, it's really human of you to listen to all my bullshit." At Deacon's smile, Chad laughed, "So, what do you want to do tonight?"

Deacon looked at him, "I want to get drunk." He squinted into the fading light of the sun, "I want to get very, very drunk."

Chad sighed, smiled, and shook his head, "Why am I not surprised?"

#

As they stumbled home from the bar, Deacon's arm was slung over Chad's shoulder and he was using him as a crutch as they made their way down the sidewalk, a girl in a short skirt and tank top trailing behind them; she was trying not to shiver from the cold. Chad was tipsy, but Deacon was wasted. A familiar looking pickup truck was parked by their curb.

As they rounded the corner and began heading up the walkway, they stopped in their tracks. There was a small figure sitting on the porch steps.

"Uh oh." Chad breathed out, recognizing the figure immediately. He'd been waiting for this. Propping Deacon up and finding that he could stand alone without assistance, Chad distanced himself from Deacon a bit.

The girl that was trailing behind them spoke up, "Who's that?"

"Don't worry, sugar, she's for him." Chad answered, slapping a hand on Deacon's chest.

The girl wasn't exactly satisfied with the answer, having had her eyes on Deacon, but she sidled up next to Chad anyway.

Just then, Rayna bolted off the porch, running down the walkway until she stood in their path. "Hey." She said, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. Rayna's eyes settled on Deacon, searching his face. The girl slung her arm around Chad.

Chad cleared his throat, "Um, hey, Rayna." He gave her a little wave and walked down the walkway towards the porch, his arm around the girl's waist.

When they were gone, Rayna turned to look at Deacon. His eyes were glossy, and he was doing his best to look anywhere but at her.

"I borrowed Watty's truck." She smiled a little, "Where've you been?" She asked him, her voice soft and gentle. It wasn't accusatory, though Deacon knew it had every right to be. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, and she pulled her arms around herself, trying to keep the October evening chill out.

Deacon sighed, "Around." His word was slightly slurred, but he seemed more sober than he had even a moment before, as though the mere sight of her worked to help sober him up. In truth, it did.

Rayna nodded once, "Around." Her face flashed annoyance, then slipped into sadness, "I've been…" She trailed off, opening her eyes against the light breeze passing by to keep the tears at bay, "I've been calling you."

Her voice was fragile, and there was something in it that made Deacon's blood turn soft. He closed his eyes and tried to steel himself against it, the images in the folder Lamar Wyatt had given him playing on repeat behind his eyes. His blood ran cold at the thought, and he felt the anger begin to surge through him again.

"Can't take a hint, Rayna?" He asked, opening his eyes and fixing her with a hard stare. It took every ounce of strength within himself to maintain it when she returned his gaze with wide-eyed hurt.

"No, I can." She shivered against the cold and pushed her hair from her face, "I just… I don't understand, Deacon. What did I do?" Her voice was small, quiet. She shrugged, "You were kissing me at the wedding and then—you just ran away. You just stopped talking to me? I thought we were…" She trailed off, confusion in her voice. Her eyes looked around his yard, not focusing on anything; she wasn't sure she could actually look at him, "I thought you were my…"

Deacon's face screwed up in pain, and the anger came in second; he walked up the walkway to the porch steps. Standing on the second one, he whirled around to face her, balling his fists at his side. "I'm not your boyfriend, Rayna, I'm not anybody's damn boyfriend!"

Rayna followed him, stopping halfway up the walkway where she finally looked at him, "Is that what this is about? Is that why you've been ignoring me?" She sighed, "If that's what's bothering you, I don't…we don't…"

The way she was looking at him made the overwhelming need to push her away flood through him. He wasn't the type of guy who deserved to have someone like Rayna look at him like that. He let his anger for Lamar Wyatt fuel him, let the fear he'd stirred in himself three nights ago buoy it to the surface.

Deacon shot off the porch and stood directly in front of her, "Just leave me alone, Rayna!" He yelled at her, "Don't you get it?" He asked her, his tone harsh, bordering on cruel, "Can't you see that I don't want you?" His voice boomed and he watched as fear settled in over her face, moving right in over the embarrassment and hurt.

Rayna stumbled back from him a little, feeling the tears burn her eyes, "I thought… Deacon, I thought that you…" She trailed off, the tears streaming down her face. "Okay." Deciding that she should spare herself further humiliation, she turned around and walked across the grass, heading back to Watty's truck.

As realization of what he'd just said to her washed over him, he felt panic grip him; Deacon followed behind her, grabbing her arm. When she wrenched it out of his grasp with a slight yelp, Deacon froze, "Shit, Rayna." He exhaled, dropping to his knees on the grass. Something in his voice made her stop and turn around to look at him.

The grass was wet, and he felt it soaking through the knees of his jeans, "I'm so sorry," He felt the tears come hot and thick down his face as he knelt on the grass, "I'm sorry." He said again, looking up at her, regret emblazoned on his face. He hunched over, and then sat down on the grass. He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, hugging them to himself; his shoulders were shaking with the force of his tears.

Her face morphed immediately into concern and she dropped down next to him, her knees pushing into the wet grass beside him. She reached out and put her hand lightly on his back, "Shhh…" She whispered, her hand moving in circles. Her voice was quiet, "You don't have to be anything to me that you don't want to be, Deacon."

He looked up at her then, and the pain she saw there took her breath away, "That's just it, Rayna," His voice was a whisper, "I want to be everything to you, but I can't… you don't…" His eyes crinkled at the sides, and she thought for a minute that he looked twenty years older than he was if you went by his eyes, if you read the pain there, "You deserve…" He choked back a sob, "You don't deserve someone like me."

"Deacon…" She started, but he cut her off.

"No, Ray, you don't understand." He said, still crying. Rayna's hand smoothed his shirt, and then she reached her hand up to his head, running her fingernails through the dark hair at his temple. He closed his eyes, and leaned into her touch. "You don't understand." His voice was barely a whisper and he shook his head lightly.

"Okay." She said, her fingernails tracing invisible patterns into his scalp, "Then help me understand." She sat down next to him, her arms grasping his, her touch gentle on his biceps.

"I don't even know how to tell you this." His voice sounded broken as he rested his forehead on his forearm, speaking into his lap, "The first real clear memory I have is walking into the bathroom. I was six years old, maybe seven, and I'd heard my Mama scream." He took a breath to steady himself, but when he spoke it was clear it hadn't worked, "I went to find her, and then I heard a noise coming from the bathroom. A real loud noise, so I pushed the door open and I saw her. She was covered in blood, her face black and blue, and he was standing over her, my father." He shook his head, his forehead digging into his forearm, "His fist was raised, and he turned around when I opened the door and looked at me." His voice was distant, like he wasn't here, and he wasn't there; he wasn't anywhere, "He looked right at me and smirked. Then he pushed me out of the bathroom and locked the door."

Rayna was crying again, keeping her tears silent. She was thinking of Deacon as a little boy, of how scared he must have been. She brought her fingernails down to the nape of his neck, soothing him with her touch.

He lifted his head to look at her, but thought better of it, dropping his head back down. "Rayna," His voice broke on her name, "I banged on that door until my hands hurt. I scratched at it until my fingernails were bloody," He took a shaky breath, "And when my father came out, he smiled at me… this real evil smile. Then he… he told me I was gonna be just like him when I grew up." Deacon shook his head, "It wasn't the first time he told me that, and it damn sure wasn't the last." He brought his head up to look at her, finally, but it was almost like he was looking past her, "I went into that bathroom and I held my Mama; I slept with her in there all night, but I felt so scared. Scared for her, scared of my father, and scared that he was right. Even at six years old I was scared that he was right." He sighed, "And you know what? Sometimes I have a temper I can't control." His eyes were glassy, "And that look I saw on my Mama's face, that look of fear? I just saw it on your face, Rayna."

Rayna shook her head, "No, Deacon, it wasn't anything like that." She murmured, "It wasn't anything like that."

His shoulders shook with his sobs, and he looked away from her, his eyes focusing on some spot on the grass, "I don't want to be like him, Ray; I don't want to be a thing like him."

"Shhh," She said, pulling him to her. He let her take him, and she leaned back so his head was on her chest; she could feel his tears on her skin and she pressed her lips to his temple, "It's okay." She whispered, "You don't have to be, Deacon. You don't have to be like him." She kissed his hairline, "You get to choose." She smoothed her hand over his head, "Okay?" When she felt him nod against her chest, she cradled his head and rocked him gently, "You get to choose."

When his tears subsided, she held him still, her hands caressing his head. "Come on," She said, lifting his head gently from her chest and standing up. She reached her hand out to him and he took it, standing beside her. She led him to the walkway and he followed her wordlessly up the stairs on the porch.

She led him to his bedroom, and eased him down on the bed. She crawled in behind him and wrapped her arms around him, her chest pressing into his back. She lifted her head and planted a kiss on his cheek. When she heard him sigh, she leaned into his ear and whispered, "Sleep." She watched his eyes flutter closed as his hand came up to grasp hers, holding tightly to her, as though he wanted to make sure she was really there. "I'm here." She whispered, "And you get to choose."