October 5th, 1988

Deacon awoke fully clothed, well-rested, and freezing. October nights had gotten cold, and quick. The light streamed in from the window above his bed, the slats in the blinds casting shadows across his room. He opened his eyes and lifted his head—turning it to the right, he saw Rayna, her mass of copper hair spread out over his pillow; she was cocooned inside every blanket and sheet he had on the bed. Her face peeked out from the pile of blankets, but she was still asleep, breathing softly in and out of her nose. She looked peaceful, and he smiled.

Deacon reached out to smooth his hand over her forehead, softly caressing the skin there with the back of his hand. Looking at her, he felt his heart swell and then lurch; he felt something shift in his stomach, and an almost nausea-like wave rippled through it; at the recognition, a bit of dread settled in, followed swiftly by panic. The damn flutter was back. Though he knew it had never really left, he still swore softly under his breath, wondering if this fluttering thing was going to become his new normal. Looking at Rayna, sleeping in his bed, he already knew the answer, though he refused to admit it to himself.

As he continued stroking her forehead, her eyes fluttered open and he watched as she woke up, the golden tones in her hair exemplified by the early morning light. His breath caught in his throat at the sight, her blue eyes shining back at him—he'd never seen anything more beautiful. He watched her brow furrow and crease as she took him in, and then a slow smile spread across her face as she realized where she was.

"Hey," She said, her voice rough with sleep. Deacon didn't know he'd ever like the sound of something so much—but listening to Rayna wake up was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

"Hey yourself." He said, smoothing her hair back one more time and then dropping his hand back in between them, "Warm enough?" He asked, a small smile playing on his face.

She looked down at herself, took in the blankets swirled around her, and then looked back at him. Her gaze traveled up his blanket-less form, and she laughed. "Oh." She said, smiling a bit shyly, "Sorry."

Deacon laughed and shook his head, "It's okay." He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his arms, "Didn't really figure you for a cover-stealer though."

Rayna laughed and sat up on one arm, her elbow supporting her weight as she looked at him, "No?" She asked, her eyebrows raised.

Deacon cleared his throat, the realization of what he'd just admitted washing over him—he'd just admitted that he'd imagined Rayna in bed. Which he had, numerous times in various different ways, but that wasn't something he had necessarily planned on sharing with her. Flustered, he sat up, avoiding her gaze.

"Do you want, uh… some coffee?" He asked, swinging his legs off the bed.

Rayna sat up and considered him, her eyes flickering over his face, "Uh, sure."

Deacon started to get up—he was halfway to the door of his bedroom when her voice stopped him and he turned around to face her.

"Deacon," She said, her voice quiet, "I meant what I said last night." She sat up and ran her hand through her hair, "You don't have to be anything to me that you don't want to be."

Deacon sighed; she'd obviously misinterpreted his jumpiness, but his head was starting to pound a little bit and he wasn't even sure what he should say, so he just offered her a small smile.

"What I want to be right now is your coffee supplier." He winked at her and felt relief when she smiled at him and then burrowed herself back down in the covers. His heart leapt, and he shook his head as he closed his bedroom door behind him.

Get it together, Claybourne, he said, slightly disgusted with himself, but he was smiling as he made his way to the kitchen and put the coffee on. His mind was moving a mile a minute. Last night had been such a weird night—he'd never opened up like he had to Rayna, not to anyone. And no one had ever made him feel like she had last night; last night, he felt like he was safe—like he could be more than the sum of all his fears, like his future wasn't predetermined. It was a strange feeling, one that was not unwelcome. As the coffee brewed, he got two cups down from the cupboard and placed them in front of the pot.

He hadn't felt this well-rested since he moved to Nashville; hell, he was pretty sure he hadn't felt this well-rested in his whole life. He shook his head, removing the coffee pot and pouring the steaming coffee into the cups. He'd never actually just slept with a girl before, a fact that he hadn't realized until he was waking up with a fully clothed Rayna next to him. It felt much different than he thought it might—it felt oddly comforting in a way he didn't expect. But, he thought, that was probably because that girl was Rayna. Everything, he was beginning to notice, felt different with her.

He dropped some sugar and creamer into the mugs and then picked them up; carrying them back to his bedroom, he couldn't stop the flutter as it came again.

When he pushed the door open, she was sitting in a chair in the corner of his room—he saw her face first, her brow furrowed and creased in the middle, this time in anger. She looked pissed, he thought, as he set the coffee mugs on the dresser by the door. His eyes fell to the manila folder open in her lap and his stomach dropped.

He closed the door behind him and her head snapped up to look at him.

"What the hell is this, Deacon?" She asked, nodding her head at the folder in her lap.

Deacon's heart sank—Lamar's words came flooding back to him: 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.

"That," Deacon said, stepping further into the room and crossing to where she sat in the chair, "Is none of your damn business," He said, reaching out and snapping the folder closed. He removed it from her lap.

Rayna stood up from the chair, her clothes slightly rumpled from having been slept in, "The hell it's not, Deacon." She said, throwing her hands on her hips.

Deacon felt the anger course through him, and he was glad. It could mask the embarrassment he felt—embarrassment for thinking his life could be different, for thinking someone like Rayna would be interested in him in the first place, let alone after she found out—really found out—about his past.

He smirked, his grasp on the folder tight, "No, it's not any of your damn business, Rayna," His voice was steady but harsh, "Look, I'm sorry that as it turns out, I'm a little bit more bad boy than you can handle, but… I told you that you deserved someone better than me; I'm trash, Rayna, as you can very well see now. I'm sorry you had to find out this way that it was true. And I get that you're mad at me for it, but hey, you can leave now, we can go our separate ways, no hard feelings." He looked at her, his gaze holding a false steel.

"Deacon," Rayna whispered, "Is that what you really think?" She shook her head, "You are not trash. And I'm not mad at you," She said, reaching her hand up to graze his jaw, "Well, maybe a little bit for not telling me about all of this. I'm mad at Daddy." She sighed and dropped her hand, "He's the one that did this, right? He's the one that gave this to you?" She reached for the folder and tugged on it gently, but he wouldn't let it go, "This is what he gave you at Tandy's wedding?"

At her insistent gaze, Deacon nodded once.

"God," She breathed out, her tone one of disbelief. She moved her hand to cover his on the folder. She squeezed it lightly, "Deacon, let go." She smoothed her hand over the back of his hand; he closed his eyes and then released his grasp on the folder.

Rayna took it from him and tucked it under her arm, "I don't care about this, Deacon." She sighed, "I mean—I care about this because I'm sorry it happened to you, but nothing in this folder changes anything between us."

Deacon opened his eyes and looked at her, "Rayna, that folder changes everything between us."

Rayna looked at him and set her jaw, "Not for me it doesn't." She sat back down in the chair and balanced the folder on her lap. Reaching down, she slid her boot on her left foot, "Look, I mean that. But I also meant what I said last night, so I guess you just have to decide, you know..." She slid her other boot on, "What you want." She stood up and tucked the folder back under her arm, "I'll see you at rehearsal later?" She asked, smiling at him.

Deacon cleared his throat, "Yeah," He nodded, "You'll see me at rehearsal."

She pulled his bedroom door open and Deacon watched as she froze. She glanced back at him and then stepped into the living room, Deacon following behind her.

Chad was sitting at the kitchen counter, shirtless despite the cold. His hair was sticking up in a million different directions and he was crunching loudly on cereal, a bit of milk dribbling down his chin. His spoon was frozen halfway between his mouth and his bowl.

"Hey," He said, around a mouthful of cereal. "Morning." He smirked as he dropped his spoon into the bowl.

Rayna flushed, "Morning." She said, not quite meeting his eyes. She glanced back at Deacon, and he guided her toward the door, his hand settling into the small of her back. Her breath hitched at the contact, and her face flushed an even deeper shade of red.

Deacon opened the door for her, and then guided her through it. When they'd said their final goodbyes, he turned around and closed the door behind him. Chad was staring at him, his eyes wide. Deacon chuckled at his expression.

"So," Chad said, smiling, "Does this mean I get to sleep again without the sound of you rubbing one out to Rayna assaulting my ears? God, I hope so… so I can stop fuckin' picturing it."

Deacon rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, "That what you think about before you fall asleep? Me, jacking off?"

Chad threw his head back and laughed, "Seriously, though, how was it?"

Deacon sighed and shook his head, "We just slept, man."

Chad threw him an exaggerated wink, "Slept, right. Well how did you sleep?"

Deacon laughed, "I'm serious. And I slept like a damn baby." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out an apple. Biting into it, he sighed, "We slept, and when we woke up… she found the folder."

Chad's eyes widened, "The dossier?"

"Yep," Deacon confirmed, around a mouthful of apple.

Chad let out a low whistle, "How'd she take that?"

Deacon shrugged, "Better than I expected."

Chad laughed, "Well, good. Though I'm not surprised; I've seen the way y'all gaze at each other. Now maybe you can stop moping." Chad slid off the stool and grinned, "After all, we're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all." He dropped his bowl in the sink and then headed towards his room, "I'm gonna play my music extra loud for the next twenty minutes or so, just so you know."

Deacon laughed and shook his head, taking his apple back to his room where, he knew, he would inevitably think of Rayna, in one way or another.

. . .

Rayna was behind the wheel of Watty's truck, fuming as she made her way across town. She'd wondered what had happened to make Deacon pull away from her at the wedding. She should have guessed it would have something to do with her father, most things in her life that caused her pain did. When she'd shown up at Deacon's house last night, she hadn't known what to expect—she'd thought maybe she'd done something to push him away, and when he'd told her that he didn't want her, she'd believed him, wondering how she could have been so foolish as to think that he might.

Then he'd opened up to her in a way that she could tell was difficult for him—and then, she'd spent the night. She'd never woken up next to anyone who wasn't directly related to her before, and this morning when she saw his face staring down at her she felt exhilarated by it and slightly frightened at the same time. When she was leaving, she knew Deacon's roommate had thought something happened between them, and the thought made her feel embarrassed and slightly shy, even sitting alone in Watty's truck. Nothing had, of course, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted something to happen between them; it was an entirely new feeling for her, the constant thrum of desire she felt for Deacon.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled up to City Hall, the morning light casting the building's shadow over the front lawn. Sliding out of the truck, she grabbed the folder and made her way across the front lawn. Her Daddy didn't have a government job, but he sure had an office in the building. She breezed past security and opened the door to his office, ready for a fight.

When Lamar saw her, he hung up the call he was on and turned to face her, not getting up from his desk.

"Well, Rayna, to what do I owe this immense pleasure?" He asked, his smile sliding over his face.

Rayna slammed the door behind her and walked until she was directly in front of his desk, "Don't play dumb with me, Daddy, you know exactly why I'm here." She threw the manila folder down on the desk in front of him, it slid until it pushed up against his broad chest.

Lamar chuckled, but didn't look down at the folder. "Did you even read what was in it, Rayna?" He stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Rayna sighed, "Yeah, Daddy, I did. And you know what? I don't care."

Lamar shifted in his chair, "Of course you don't. Why would you possibly care about the criminal history of someone you're dating?"

Rayna narrowed her eyes, "Stay out of it.. I mean it." She leaned forward, her body filling with rage, "You leave me alone, and you leave Deacon alone… got it?"

Lamar considered her as he folded his hands over the folder. He turned his head to the side, "He's going to break your heart, you know."

Rayna laughed, but there was no mirth in it, "Oh, don't act like you give a damn about my heart, Daddy. We both know the only reason you're doing this is for appearances sake, to keep the good Wyatt name clean. Well, I'm not interested, and I'm a Jaymes now, anyway." Rayna crossed her arms over her chest, "Besides, it's not like I haven't had my heart broken before." She offered a wry smile.

Lamar studied her, his jaw clenched, "You don't know what he's capable of, Rayna…"

Rayna lifted her chin, "You don't know him, Daddy, so please stop talking like you do."

Lamar stood then and walked around to the front of his desk. He leaned against the corner of it and fixed his daughter with a hard stare, "Do you?"

Rayna thought about Deacon—her memory flashed back to the night they met, to their first time on stage together, to the night he protected her at the bar, to the day he kissed her on a picnic blanket, to last night as he confessed one of the darkest parts of himself and trusted her to hold him through it.

"Yeah," Rayna said, nodding, "I do." She turned on her heels and walked to the door. She opened it and then turned around to face him once more, trying to steady her shaking hands, "Now stay the hell out of my life."