October 31st, 1988

Rayna hadn't planned on doing anything for Halloween. She'd planned on holing up at Watty's and avoiding watching scary movies completely. She'd always loved Halloween, but not so much for the gore of it. She wasn't good at the gore, and she certainly didn't like being scared—watching little kids dress up and run around in cute costumes was more her speed. But, when Chad had invited her to his Halloween party, she'd jumped at the chance to spend time with Deacon.

Deacon had offered several times to ditch the party and come to Watty's for movies and junk food, but Rayna thought it might be nice to go to a party, especially given the fact that she'd really only ever been to a few. Plus, when she thought about it, being alone with Deacon scared her. 'Scare,' she knew, was not the right word. Being alone with Deacon thrilled her, and that is what scared her.

The costume part proved slightly problematic. Rayna had actually had more than a few paying gigs recently and she was becoming a regular at some spots, but she still didn't have extra money to spend on a frivolous costume she'd likely only wear for one night and then toss out or stash in the back of her closet. She'd never been as good at conspicuous consumption as the rest of her family, but she still wasn't used to pinching pennies by any stretch of the imagination; that part was new for her. Thankfully, Tandy had been smuggling Rayna's clothes from their father's house slowly but surely, so Rayna at least had far more options to work with than she did when she first arrived at Watty's house with a single duffle bag to her name.

Which is how she ended up in the small half-filled walk-in closet she'd begun to think of as her own, staring at her old outfits, trying to make something—anything—work as a costume. Frustration was slowly working its way through her body and she was just about to give up and go to the Halloween party as an aspiring country singer when something tucked in the back caught her eye. Tilting her head to the side, she pulled out a knee-length suede skirt and looked at it, the wheels turning in her head. Digging a bit through her shirts, she emerged with a pink v-neck top, then gathered a brown leather belt from the back of the door and a pair of short boots from the shoe rack.

As she stood looking in the mirror, she smiled. Her long red hair was curled and, true, was a bit long for the look she was going for tonight, but it would have to do. She smoothed her hand down over her thigh; the skirt was well-fitted, hugging her frame, and the shirt was, too, dipping down in the front and exposing a hint of her cleavage. She grabbed one of the lipsticks she'd been borrowing from Tandy, applied a layer, and headed out the door.

Rayna cranked the window down on Watty's truck so a small sliver let some fresh air in as she drove towards Deacon's house; the air was brisk as it filtered in, but the breeze felt good on her skin. As she drove, her thoughts turned to Watty. He had been so welcoming to her, allowing her to live in his house rent-free no matter how much she tried to pay him, feeding her, letting her use his old truck whenever she wanted, not to mention helping her further her career in a way she never ceased to be thankful for. She started to feel the emotion swell in her throat as she thought of him—this is what a father should be, she thought.

She felt safe and protected in Watty's care. She felt loved. Sometimes, she felt guilty for feeling that way about Watty when she didn't feel it for her own father. But, they were so different, Watty and her father. Watty protected her, but he didn't smother her—he didn't try to control her. Rayna didn't need curfews and strict rules to behave. She'd always had a good head on her shoulders, she'd always been wise beyond her years—likely a byproduct of having lost her mother so early on in her life, Rayna wasn't interested in breaking rules and getting in trouble. She wasn't interested in being a rebel; at least, not in the conventional sense of the word. She was interested in singing and following her dreams, which didn't happen to be the cookie cutter ones her own father had always wanted for her: Vanderbilt, a degree in something practical, followed by a high paying practical job where she could wear pencil skirts every day. God love her sister, but Rayna had never wanted those things for herself, not for a minute. Her father had never accepted that, though—let alone understood it. Watty understood that in a way her father never had; Watty understood her in a way her father never had. In a way her father never would, she yet, Rayna didn't feel a fondness for Watty simply because he didn't enforce strict rules for her, or even simply because he encouraged her actual dreams—it was something else entirely; something almost innate that she couldn't quite seem to put her finger on. She didn't think she'd ever be able to place it, but she was just thankful to have it in the first place.

Rayna smiled as she pulled up to Deacon's; tissue ghosts hung in the trees, blowing on a slight breeze. Haphazardly carved Jack-O-Lanterns lined the steps of the porch, some obviously going for scary but all of them looking silly. She wondered if Deacon had carved one, laughing a bit as she envisioned him concentrating on carving the flesh of the pumpkin, his brow creasing in the middle as it always did when he fully concentrated on something. Music blasted from a boom box on the front porch, the familiar tones of Monster Mash carrying through the air, and a creepy fog rolled across the front yard where makeshift grave markers stood. Rayna killed the engine and sat in the truck, peering out the passenger side window as she watched the people in the crowd littering the front lawn, her eyes automatically scanning for Deacon as the butterflies once again invaded her stomach. She thought maybe at this point she should just build them their own sanctuary inside her stomach, since they didn't appear to be interested in vacating the residence any time soon. In fact, they were becoming quite the constant presence for her; all she had to do was think of Deacon, and they appeared.

Rayna didn't see Deacon, though, and her heart sank a bit as she took in the crowd. She couldn't help but notice that there were girls everywhere, and what was worse was how provocatively they all seemed to be dressed—most hardly wore clothing at all, their skirts short, their tight-fitting tops leaving very little to the imagination. Rayna looked self-consciously down at her own outfit, wondering if she should just start the truck back up, go back to Watty's, change into her sweats and eat raw cookie dough until she got sick.

Just then, she heard a knock on the passenger window. Turning her head, she saw Chad standing there, grinning. His blond hair was teased high on his head, resembling a very deliberate bird's nest.

He waved excitedly at her, "Rayna!" He shouted, louder than was strictly necessary to be heard through the window, "You made it!"

Smiling, Rayna nodded and waved at him as she exited the truck, making her way around the bed. When she saw Chad's full outfit, she couldn't help but laugh, bringing her hand up to her mouth. He'd apparently made good on his promise to Deacon—tonight, he was the spitting image of David Coverdale, the lead singer of Whitesnake.

Chad grinned again, doing a little half-spin before turning to fully face her. His eyes wandered up and down her frame, taking in her costume. Rayna didn't feel uncomfortable under his gaze, which she appreciated.

He gave her a thumbs up, "You look like you just stepped right out of a damn John Hughes movie," He stepped back to peruse her again, "Claire. The Breakfast Club," When Rayna nodded, Chad clapped once and then nodded in approval, "A girl after my own heart."

Rayna smiled at him, pleased that he was able to recognize her costume so quickly, but her eyes were focused over Chad's shoulder, scanning the crowd.

Chad laughed, watching her, "'Course, we both know it ain't my heart you're after." When Rayna looked at him, Chad winked at her and she blushed, "Deacon!" Chad yelled loudly over his shoulder, startling Rayna a bit, "Your girl's here!" He shouted, then took Rayna gently by the elbow and led her up the walkway to the bottom of the porch stairs. "He's been holed up in his room, moodily playing his guitar waiting for you to arrive," Chad let go of Rayna's arm and turned to face the door, "Deac—"

Chad stopped mid-yell when Deacon appeared in the doorway, holding his guitar as though he'd been so excited to see Rayna he hadn't remembered to leave it in his room. Seeing Rayna, Deacon smiled.

"Hey," He said, his voice sounding somewhat shy, an unusual tone for him; he was always so sure of himself, but Rayna had a way of putting him on edge like he'd never before experienced. He felt nervous around her constantly, but somehow didn't begrudge the feeling. He welcomed it.

"Hey," Rayna smiled back up at him.

"Happy Halloween," He nodded, and came down the steps, meeting Rayna and Chad at the bottom. Deacon leaned his guitar up against the bottom of the porch railing.

"Happy Halloween," She nodded back, watching as he joined them after the guitar was settled.

"You look…" Deacon's eyes wandered up and down her body and he grinned, "Beautiful." He finished, though 'sexy' is the word that flashed like a neon sign in the back of his brain. Before he met Rayna, all the scantily clad girls running around this party might have drawn him in; but now, Rayna, wearing a fairly modest outfit as far as Halloween costumes went was the only thing he could see worth looking at.

"Thanks," Rayna breathed out; she waved her hands over her outfit, "Claire." She said, nodding, "From The Breakfast Club."

Deacon smiled, "Perfect," He said, without stopping to think that he was apt to find everything Rayna ever did perfect.

Rayna's eyes skated over his outfit: worn jeans with holes in them, work boots, and a plaid shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. Rayna immediately felt her mouth go dry. He looked so… manly. She'd never seen him so rugged before, his stubble visible in the porch light.

"I'm a… lumberjack," Deacon shrugged, a grin working its way across his face.

Eyeing Deacon, Chad shook his head, "Nah," he said, reaching up to his ear and removing his snap on stud earring. "Tonight," He pressed the earring into Deacon's hand, "Tonight, you're Bender, man." Chad finished with a wink, "Drinks? Rayna?"

Rayna bit her lip, trying to decide; she was still easing her way into the world of alcohol, "Um," She said, not sure, "What do you have?"

"Beer?" Chad asked. At Rayna's wrinkled nose, Chad chuckled, "Wine? Wine cooler?" When she nodded and shrugged, Chad turned his attention to Deacon, "Beer, man?"

Deacon cleared his throat, "No, thanks," He shook his head, "I'm good."

Chad raised his eyebrows in shock, but turned and headed towards the kitchen anyway, remaining silent. Deacon was sure he had a pithy remark on his tongue, but was glad he had kept it to himself.

When he was gone, Rayna turned to look at Deacon, her head tilting to the side curiously as she regarded him, "You're not drinking?" She asked, puzzled.

Deacon brought Chad's earring up to his ear and snapped it on, "No." He shook his head again, the fake stud catching a bit of the porch light, "Not tonight."

"Why?" Rayna asked, her head still tilted.

Deacon ran a hand through his hair, laughing a little nervously, "Chad's friends can get a little…" Deacon trailed off, searching for the right word, "Rowdy," Deacon finished.

Rayna furrowed her brow, not understanding the connection.

Deacon shifted his weight on his feet a bit, "I want to, ah… make sure…you're alright," He shrugged, "Especially if you're drinking… I want to…" He trailed off again, jamming his hands in his pockets. He knew the words he was looking for, but he couldn't seem to get them out. It wasn't a thing he'd ever felt before; not to this degree, anyway—and it was certainly something he'd never admitted to before. The inherent need to protect someone was something he was just starting to get used to.

Realization swept over Rayna, "Take care of me?" She asked, her voice quiet and suddenly filled with emotion.

Deacon shrugged, "Well, yeah."

Rayna ducked her head a bit and opened her mouth to speak—before she could say anything, Chad barreled down the stairs with a plastic cup outstretched in his hand. Rayna took the proffered cup and lifted it to her nose. Inhaling, she raised her eyebrows at Chad. It smelled sweet.

Chad laughed, "Boone's Farm." He winked at her again, "You can't be seventeen and not drink Boone's Farm. I'm pretty sure it's an actual law."

Chuckling, Rayna brought the cup to her lips and sipped, not needing to tip it very far back as it was full to the top—it was apple-flavored and sweet, almost sickly so, but it didn't taste unpleasant. Smiling, she took another sip, letting it float around her tongue before she swallowed.

"Not bad, right?" Chad asked.

Rayna nodded and took another sip, enjoying the slight burn of it as it went down her throat. She was still pretty unused to drinking, so she knew it wouldn't take much to have her feeling buzzed. Still, the butterflies in her stomach dancing voraciously from Deacon's proximity to her demanded she drink more. As the three of them stood around chatting, she drained her cup.

A group of laughing guys stumbled up the porch, the largest one of them coming precariously close to Deacon's guitar, which was still perched against the porch. Deacon reached out and grabbed the guitar by its neck.

"I better…" He held it up and nodded his head in the direction of the house, "You okay?" Deacon asked, looking at Rayna.

At her nod, he smiled and went up the stairs, clutching his guitar in his right hand.

"Claire and Bender," Chad said, "Perfect."

Rayna rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. "So," Rayna looked at him, tipping her cup back to get the last few drops out, "Is your future ex-girlfriend here tonight, Chad?" Rayna asked, her eyes surveying the crowd.

Chad laughed, his head tilting back; he nodded, surveying the half-dressed girls in the yard, "Definitely. More than one, probably." He looked at her cup, "You need a refill." He grabbed her cup from her hands and bounded up the stairs.

Suddenly alone, Rayna wrung her hands. As her eyes traveled over the crowd, she couldn't help but feel awkward. It wasn't a new sensation for her; after all, she'd spent the majority of her school years feeling like a fish out of water. But this was a situation in which she'd willingly placed herself, so somehow the weight of it felt heavier. She was glancing up at the front door willing Deacon to emerge from it when suddenly she felt herself surrounded, felt bodies standing too close to her.

When she dropped her head back down, she saw three young men surrounding her. They were all tall and of varying weights with dark hair; they were dressed as various characters Rayna recognized, some more easily recognizable than the others.

One of the guys, dressed as Popeye, leaned in to her, "Hey, sweetheart," He said and Rayna could smell alcohol heavy on his breath, "Want to be my Olive Oil?" He asked, picking up a tendril of her hair by its end. Rayna jerked her shoulders back as his fingers grazed her skin.

Rayna leaned her head away and stepped back from him, moving her hair out of his reach, "I think your friend," Rayna nodded her head at the guy standing next to him: a tall skinny guy with dark hair, "Is more suited to that task."

The young men chuckled, "She's feisty." The tall skinny guy said.

The third one, silent until now, stepped forward, leaning into her. "So, Claire," He said, having obviously placed her costume, his eyes roving up and down her body. Rayna braced herself, trying to hold in an involuntary shudder—he was looking at her lasciviously, and there was something about his gaze that made her skin crawl. He leaned over her further, his eyes staring directly at her cleavage, "Can you do the lipstick trick for us?" He sniggered, and his friends closed ranks around her so that she couldn't escape. The guy looked around at his friends, smirking, "Maybe you can use something other than lipstick, though," He said, grabbing himself through his jeans as he smiled darkly at her. "Come on, baby," He said, the index finger of his free hand tracing the swell of her breast where her shirt dipped down to reveal her cleavage, "I'll be real gentle with you."

"Get your fucking hands off her." A voice boomed from the top of the porch.

All three men stuttered back from her, and suddenly Deacon was right next to her, his eyes blazing as he looked wildly from one man to the next.

Popeye raised hands up, pushing them out in front of himself, "Hey, man, we were just…"

"Leaving." Deacon said, his voice rough with anger, "Leaving is just what the fuck you were doing."

Popeye nodded, recognizing the look in Deacon's eyes, "Yeah, man." He nodded again, "We were leaving."

He and makeshift Olive Oil turned to walk away, but the third one, the one who'd touched her, didn't move. He stood still, staring at Deacon. Finally, a wide smile broke out on his face, but it was unkind.

"Real nice piece of ass you have there," He said, his gaze flickering to Rayna. "I'd love to get my hands on her for a few minutes," He moved his eyes slowly down her body, stopping to stare at her breasts before his gaze traveled down her legs.

Deacon felt white-hot rage surge through him, and he stepped forward, his fist clenched tightly at his side. He was envisioning the sweet sound of the guy's face under his fist when he felt Rayna's soft hand on the outside of his curled fist.

"Deacon, no." She whispered, running her hand gently up his forearm. She wrapped her hand around his forearm and squeezed.

At her touch, Deacon unclenched his fist, then turned to look at her, nodding once. Rayna smiled, and stepped away from them just as Chad came down the stairs with her plastic cup refilled.

"Man," The guy said, lowering his voice so only Deacon could hear him, "I bet you'd love to punch the hell out of me." His eyes shot over Deacon's shoulder to where Rayna stood; he sneered as he looked back at Deacon, "She sure got you pussy-whipped, don't she?"

Deacon let out a bark of laughter, unfriendly, mean. Then he stepped towards the guy, his voice lowered when he spoke, "Jealous?" Deacon narrowed his eyes, as he watched the guy's eyes flash knowing he'd hit the mark, "Could be much worse," Deacon smirked at him, "I could be you. If you touch her again, you won't be doing anything else with your hand ever again." He said, "Now get the fuck out of here." Deacon said, turning his back and heading to where Rayna and Chad stood, watching him.

Deacon could feel the guy's eyes on his back for a long moment until he turned and walked away, disappearing across the street and into the night rejoining his friends. When Deacon reached Chad and Rayna, he let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

"You alright?" He asked Rayna, concern in his voice.

Rayna nodded, "Yeah." She looked at him, "Are you?"

Deacon nodded, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, "Yeah." He looked at Chad, "What the hell, Chad?" He curbed the urge to yell at him for leaving Rayna alone; Rayna, he knew, could handle herself—she'd proven that several times in seedy bars.

"That's Doug." Chad shrugged, "Doug's a fucking asshole."

Deacon laughed then, "Yeah, to say the least."

The three of them chuckled, and Rayna sipped her drink while Chad nursed his beer—they fell into a comfortable conversation, talking about both David Coverdales, The Breakfast Club, and Rayna and Deacon's next gig. Rayna smiled into her glass. Despite the uneasy confrontation with those guys, she was having fun. She felt happy, standing next to Deacon, feeling the wine work its way through her body as it warmed her from the inside out in a way that felt not unlike the way Deacon affected her when he was near. She felt protected when she was with him, she felt safe, and yet she felt like she was in the middle of completely uncharted territory when she was with him, her body and desire for him taking her far beyond anywhere she had been before.

A shrill voice from the left broke her from her reverie, "Rayna?" Rayna froze as the voice, instantly recognizable, came closer, "Rayna Wyatt?" The voice continued, its owner sashaying up to the threesome at the bottom of the stairs, "As I live and breathe, it is you!"

Rayna pressed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and then opened her eyes to stare at their new companion. She took another quick sip from her now-full cup.

"Kelly Crossley," Rayna said, a fake smile overtaking her face as she looked at Kelly.

Deacon put his hand in his pocket and watched Rayna curiously as she interacted with their new guest.

Kelly waved a perfectly manicured hand over herself— "Madonna tonight." She laughed, the sound high-pitched, shrill, and grating.

Rayna took in Kelly's blonde curled and teased hair, her strategically drawn-on beauty mark, her tulle skirt, high heels and skimpy white lace camisole which was see-through over her stomach and barely containing her breasts at the top. Her lips were a bright, tawdry red. She looked like Madonna, but a cheaper version.

Kelly looked at Rayna, "And you're…?" She trailed off, her eyes roaming over Rayna.

Rayna held in an eye roll at Kelly's condescending tone, "Claire Standish." Rayna replied; at Kelly's blank expression Rayna did roll her eyes, "The Breakfast Club."

"Right," Kelly said, drawing the word out, her mouth turning up a bit at the sides in an attempt at a smile, but it was unfriendlier than that, "Rayna Wyatt at a party…" She smirked a little, "And a cool one, at that. The girls are not going to believe this."

Rayna forced a laugh out in a huff of air; the girls Kelly was referring to played a large part in making Rayna's high school years just this side of unbearable, "Actually, it's Jaymes now. I go by Rayna Jaymes."

"Right." She smiled, aware of the two males surrounding them, "Aren't you still in school?" She asked, condescension dripping from her words, "High school?"

Rayna clenched her jaw, "No," She shook her head, "I graduated early."

"Oh." Kelly pursed her lips, "You're still singing?" Kelly asked, her tone disinterested.

Rayna nodded, "Yep. It's how I'm making my living right now, actually."

Kelly ran her tongue over her teeth, "Right," She said again, not really paying attention. Kelly's eyes flickered over Chad and then settled on Deacon. Her gaze raked slowly up and down his body. She fluttered her eyelids, "And who is this?" Her voice was suddenly an octave lower. She cut her eyes back to Rayna, obviously expecting an introduction.

Noticing Kelly's gaze, Deacon edged closer to Rayna, taking his hand out of his pocket and grazing his hand against hers.

"This is my b…" Rayna trailed off, the color rising in her cheeks; she really had to stop doing that. "Deacon." She shook her head, the color suffusing her face further, "My friend, Deacon," She amended, thoroughly flustered and refusing to meet Deacon's gaze.

"Oh, friend?" Kelly said, an odd grin turning her mouth; Rayna recognized it from three years at school with this girl, "It's good you have one of those." She dropped her voice to a mock whisper, "Finally."

Deacon felt himself stiffen at Kelly's words, the anger rising in him. Rayna finally looked at him and gave him a small smile letting him know that she was used to this from Kelly.

When no one laughed, Kelly was undeterred, "Deacon, was it?" She asked, her eyes staring at Deacon; he gave a small nod and rolled his eyes when he saw her gaze focused on his chest. "And you're a lumberjack?" She said, her well-manicured nail jutting out at him as her eyes continued searching his body.

Deacon gritted his teeth, "Bender." He corrected, pointing to the clip-on earring he was wearing.

Kelly's face fell a bit, but she smiled again, attempting to be sexy, "Well, Deacon," She said, her voice lilting, "What is it that you do?"

"I play guitar." Deacon replied, his tone clipped.

Kelly's eyes widened a bit and she smirked again, "You must be good with your hands."

Deacon slid his hand around Rayna's waist, "For Rayna." He said, smiling; he meant it as a follow up to his previous statement—that he played guitar for her—but he enjoyed the look of annoyance that flashed through Kelly's eyes at his words as they took on a different meaning.

Deacon smiled as Rayna pressed the side of her body against his.

Kelly's eyes narrowed in on Deacon's hand, his thumb running in light circles around Rayna's hip bone.

"Well," Kelly said, a mean smirk settling in over her face, "You should find me later," She winked at Deacon and pushed her breasts together and out in a move that was anything but subtle, "You can treat me like a virgin." She laughed, her head tilting back with the effort.

Chad, who had been silently watching the scene unfold with a sort of abject horror, cleared his throat, "Sugar," Chad said, addressing Kelly, "I'm sure you've noticed that Deacon here isn't exactly interested in treating you like anything… least of all something you definitely ain't…" He nodded his head to Rayna, whose jaw was still slightly open in shock at Kelly's boldness, "Me, on the other hand?" Chad grinned at her, "I'm very interested."

Kelly finally looked at Chad, then let out a sigh of disgust, "No, thanks." She said, looking back at Deacon, "Have fun with the real thing then, I guess." Kelly spat out, cutting her eyes to Rayna quickly before she turned on her heel and disappeared further into the party.

Chad grinned, then rocked himself up on his toes before he turned and followed Kelly.

"Kelly, baby, wait!" Chad called, following her through the crowd.

Rayna could feel her face burning as she turned away from Deacon and walked over to the secluded area at the side of the house. Kelly had just flown Rayna's perceived virginity like a flag from some desperate ship. She propped herself up on the brick wall that stood between the two houses, setting her cup down on the wall and angling her body away from Deacon. She heard his footsteps in the gravel and tried to calm her emotions, willing her face to return to its normal color.

"So," Deacon said, leading with his head as he stood right in front of her, "Those are the types of girls you went to high school with, huh?" At Rayna's nod, Deacon laughed, "Charming."

Rayna rolled her eyes, "Yep. Now you can probably see why I spent a lot of time not fitting in." She gave him a sad smile, "She was right," She shrugged, "I didn't have any friends."

Deacon smiled, pushing a bit of gravel around with his shoe, "Curse of the artist."

Rayna smiled a little, "I guess."

Deacon leaned against the wall, tilting his head up to look at her. Rayna couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked with the moonlight falling over his face.

He sighed, "The rest of the world grows up to be bankers, lawyers, doctors… we grow up to be tortured."

Rayna smiled at him then; she lifted her hand and ran her fingers softly through his hair before she dropped her hand back at her side, "Some of us more than others." She looked down at his outfit, and then back at his face, "You wear Bender well."

He smiled at her, "Thanks," Deacon held her gaze as he propped himself up on the wall next to her, "So…" He said, leaning towards her a little on the wall, "I guess we've officially established that I'm your Deacon, huh?"

Rayna flushed again, the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. Convinced he could see her reaction even in the dim light of the night, Rayna dropped her head in her hands, shaking her head, "Do you… want to be… my Deacon?"

He grinned, "Well, I damn sure don't want to be anyone else's Deacon."

Rayna smiled, her heart beating a little flutter.

Deacon stared at her, his eyes skating over her face, "And what about you?" He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, "Do you want to be… mine?"

Rayna smiled, suddenly shy, "I've never… been anyone's girlfriend before, Deacon, but…" She looked at him and smiled, "I'd sure love to start."

Deacon knew he should be scared of the word girlfriend. He always had been in the past; painting himself as anti-label any time a girl he was seeing had tried to pin him down about it. But with Rayna, the word didn't scare him—it did the opposite, in fact. It comforted him.

Deacon nodded, a grin spreading across his face, "Okay then."

Rayna laughed, "Okay then."

Deacon dropped down from the wall and stepped in front of Rayna. He lifted her skirt up a bit and then nudged her knees as far apart as they would go; he slid himself between them, the sides of his torso enveloped by her inner thighs. He reached his hand up to the back of her neck and tugged gently until she dropped her head.

He smiled against her mouth, "I'd like to make out with my girlfriend now," He said, and in any other world he would have felt cheesy, utterly ridiculous—but in this world, the one with Rayna, he just felt happy.

Deacon pressed his lips to hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Rayna brought her hands around his neck and played with the hair at the nape of his neck, sighing happily into his mouth as she kissed him back. The kiss grew deeper, until they were panting against one another's lips, Rayna's calves hooked around Deacon's hips, Deacon's hand cupping her breast through her shirt. Rayna whimpered into his mouth as his thumb brushed across her nipple.

Suddenly, the echoing sound of gravel crunching followed by a loud "Whoops!" Pulled them apart.

Panting, Deacon turned over his shoulder to see Chad standing behind them, a grin on his face.

"Sorry, guys," His words slurred slightly; he was drunk. "Don't stop on my account," He chuckled, stepping a bit closer to them, "I guess I won't have to play my music for too long tonight," He said, laughing,

Deacon shot Chad a warning look; Chad, inebriated, missed it completely.

"You're getting him all riled up, so it shouldn't take long," Chad winked at Rayna, the alcohol making it a slow and lazy one. "Not that it seems to ever take him that long when he's thinking of you."

"Chad," Deacon said, his voice loudly cutting through the night.

Rayna's brow was furrowed as she looked between Chad and Deacon. Her eyes settled on Deacon, "What's he talking about?" She asked, her eyebrows rose with the question.

"I…" Chad announced, "Am talking about Deacon's nightly 'I've just seen Rayna' rifle cleaning."

"Chad!" Deacon said, his tone curt as he stepped away from Rayna, "You're drunk. Go away." He grabbed Chad by the arm and pushed him away, before walking in front of him and dragging him by the arm a bit roughly.

Chad stumbled a bit, but then relented, following Deacon. When they were far enough away from Rayna, Chad stopped and looked at Deacon, realization flooding through him even in his inebriated state, "Oops." He said, clapping his hand over his mouth.

Deacon sighed, dropping Chad's arm, "Yeah, oops." Deacon gave Chad a light shove, "Seriously, man. Go away."

"I can explain to her that…" Chad started, the guilt washing over him.

Deacon stared at him, but a small smile came across his face—he could never seem to bring himself to be fully mad at Chad, even with something as dire as what just happened.

"You've done enough," Deacon said, and then motioned with his head for Chad to leave.

As he watched Chad stumble away, Deacon shook his head and then turned on his heel, walking back over to where Rayna still sat on the wall. He cursed the dark, as he was unable to read her features.

"Rayna, look…" Deacon said, his words a bit rushed; he was unsure how to handle this. He opened his mouth to try, and just as he was about to speak a group of people laughed loudly as they made their way on to the gravel. Deacon turned to see that they all had beers in hand as they moved to the side of the house, where they leaned up against the house and started lighting cigarettes. They were loud and boisterous, as their lighters flickered making it hard to hear anything but their laughter. Deacon didn't want to have this conversation with anyone around, anyway.

Taking Rayna's hand, he helped her down off the wall.

"Come on," He said, leading her across the yard and up the porch stairs. He opened the door to his room, thankful that no one had wandered in during the party.

When the door was closed behind them, he spun around to face her and leaned his back against it before he dropped his eyes to the carpet, unable to look at her.

Rayna's eyebrows were raised, "Rifle cleaning?" She repeated Chad's phrase to him, "What was he talking about, Deacon?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Deacon refused to meet her gaze, "Ignore him." Deacon said, running his hand over the back of his neck, "He's a drunk asshole and I'm going to kick his ass when he sobers up." Deacon finally looked at Rayna, watching her face.

"Did he mean…?" She trailed off, and Deacon watched as realization flooded her face. Color infused her pale skin as she swallowed, trying desperately to keep her eyes on his face instead of letting them fall to his jeans, "Is it true?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Rayna, I…" Deacon trailed off, not sure what to say.

Rayna cleared her throat, "Is it true?" She asked again, her voice a bit louder this time.

Deacon sighed, "Yes," He nodded, his voice quiet, "It's true." He held his breath, scared to look at Rayna, but unable to look away, worried that he'd ruined this thing between them somehow.

His stomach tightened as he watched her look at him—he felt the fear course through his body, a little voice rumbling in the back of his mind screaming you're going to lose her. He was sure the voice was right until his gaze settled on her eyes. He expected to see anger, shame, maybe some combination of both of those. Instead, what he saw reflected back to him at his admission shocked him.

There, in the depths of the blue that held him so utterly captivated, he saw the unmistakable flare of desire.