This isn't an ode to Luke Wheeler, just in case you think I've gone to the dark side.
The first time Luke Wheeler saw Rayna Jaymes she was nose-deep in a notebook, scraps tossed around her in a wreath.
Her legs were crossed, one shoulder bare of the faded band T-shirt she'd maybe stolen from some boyfriend's floor, and she absently nursed a cup of coffee in a chipped mug, a lipstick stain around the rim. She was tucked away on a storage box at the back of a bar too dimly lit to spend a summer afternoon in, her focus impressive amid noisy preparations for the night's gig.
She was doing a good job of ignoring everything other than her pen, but Luke was never one to stay away from a hot girl.
'You singin' tonight?' he asked, walking towards her, and when she lifted her head he saw big eyes and pink lips, a little hint of annoyance.
'Yeah,' she said. 'You too?'
She nodded her head towards the telltale guitar sĺung over his shoulder, and he found himself almost blushing, for absolutely no reason he could identify - Luke Wheeler didn't blush. 'Yeah, I'm bottom of the bill, right before the cleanin' crew, and they'll probably get more tips.'
He offered her a laugh, and his chest tightened when he felt sure her answering smile was granted to him in a moment of shared understanding, musician to musician. She was gorgeous, not at all like the blonde fluffy girls from back home; there was something about her, and he immediately wanted to see more of whatever it was.
Of course, there was a fair amount in her shirt he'd like to see more of too.
'I'm Luke,' he said, holding out his hand, but as he did he saw her eyes whip away from him. The notebook that had been so precious moments before thudded to the floor, sending sheets of paper scurrying for cover.
'Hey,' she said, her voice soft, quiet and aimed over Luke's shoulder.
He turned just in time to sidestep its recipient. Some guy in a plaid shirt, rips in the knees of his jeans, headed straight for Rayna, and he clearly didn't give a shit that there was anyone else around. He passed Luke without a glance and prised Rayna's legs apart with big hands, insinuating himself between them and pulling her towards him. She let him, wrapping her slender arms around his neck, and when he kissed her, her eyes fluttered shut in bliss, long dark lashes settling against her cheeks.
'Hey baby,' the guy said when he managed to pull his tongue from her mouth to nuzzle her neck, and Luke placed his gravelly twang as hailing from further south, Mississippi maybe.
Mississippi slid his hands up and down Rayna's bare thighs, and she pointed her toes in response, her boots discarded a foot away.
'Mmm,' she purred.
Luke shifted on his feet. Damn, but she could use that tone on him anytime she pleased. It was low and smoky, and she surely knew exactly the effect it had on men. She ran a hand down Mississippi's chest and he all but drooled on her.
'I was just talkin' to... I'm real sorry mister, what was your name?'
'Name's Wheeler, Luke Wheeler.'
'Luke, right - I'm Rayna. This is my boyfriend, Deacon.'
Deacon, her damn boyfriend, nodded vaguely, not interested in making friends with anyone but Rayna's mouth. She was flexible, to add to her list of talents - the guy was no beanpole, and she easily rubbed the back of one of his legs with her foot while she spoke, her tanned knees resting against his hips.
'Howdy,' Luke said anyway, because his momma raised him right, 'y'all playin' tonight with Rayna here?'
'Sure is,' Rayna answered when he said nothing. 'Deacon's my guitar player.'
It didn't take a genius to see she was from some good stock; her designer jean shorts and the bounce in her shiny hair gave her away. The boyfriend was the opposite - rough around the edges, a look of mistrust in his eye. Luke had had a rescue horse when he was a boy on his daddy's farm, a beautiful Palomino that had been abused as a foal and had never been able to shake its caginess; something in the way Deacon looked at him from beneath hooded eyelids was all too familiar.
'Lookin' forward to hearin' you man.' He watched Rayna grip one of Deacon's considerable biceps, her fingertips flirting with the line of muscle straining against his shirt. Every gesture they exchanged was intimate, whether they meant it to be or not, and Luke wondered if everyone else who came into contact with them felt quite as much an intruder. It seemed she was saying something to Deacon without speaking, encouraging him maybe, and the guy shrugged and looked at Luke again, a little more friendliness in his face.
'You too,' he said.
'I'll bet you're great,' Rayna added warmly. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and Luke had to grit his teeth to stop from reaching out to see for himself if it was as soft as it looked. 'You must be on right about the same time as us. We're smallfry too, for now anyway.'
Damn her smile for being so pretty, and damn it all the more for being his only for a second.
Luke tipped his hat. 'Well I can't wait to hear what y'all have got. I'll see ya on the other side.'
/
His set was short and sweet, the crowd enthusiastic enough to half-listen while they ordered cheap shots at the bar. Nevertheless, he exited the stage as confident as if there were a ten-thousand strong audience just for him, and found a spot to watch Rayna and Deacon, the smattering of applause still ringing in his ears and intoxicating him. He was intrigued to see them up there together, to know whether their chemistry was strictly for off-stage.
It was Rayna's name on the billing, and Deacon was certainly her guitar player as she'd said, but if any other member of her band got as close to her as he did, Luke would be willing to bet she'd give them their marching orders pretty damn sharp. Deacon towered over her, his breath ruffling the strands of hair around her face, not taking his eyes off her for a second. More than once he reached out and gripped her waist, sliding a strong hand across her midriff and pulling her in, and she gazed up at him, singing words to the crowd that were clearly for his ears.
As Luke watched, something happened in a ripple; he saw heads turn, eyes fixate on Rayna and Deacon, conversations fade to whispers. By the end of their set, they had most of the bar in the palm of their hands. Rayna, somewhat surprised, gave a little curtsy at their cheers, and clapped in the direction of her mostly male band, drawing wolf whistles from the female quota of the audience. She took Deacon's outstretched hand and let him lead her from the stage, a look of amazement on her face.
It was probably echoed on Deacon's face too, but Luke wouldn't know. He noticed only Rayna.
#
It was six months before he saw them again. Every gig he'd played - and there had been a lot, he'd taken every one he could get - he'd looked out for them, but there had been no crossing of paths, though he knew they were busting themselves hard on the circuit too.
He'd gotten himself invited to a showcase over on Printer's Alley, a band who had attracted the attention of one of the smaller new labels in town. There could be chance for unknown artists to go on after the slightly-less-unknown artists, keep the suits entertained while they made the most of the paid-for beers - Luke was banking on it, and he shouldered his guitar and headed there with nothing but determination on his mind.
He was early, but he wasn't the only eager wannabe; there were people scattered at the chipped tables, the keenness rolling off them and mixing with the smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol that was seeped into the upholstery. There was a long bar lined with stools, a raised stage to its right, booths lining the edges of the walls. There, in the one furthest away, were two people with their heads close together, deep in conversation.
Luke didn't need to look any closer to know it was them. Rayna sat with her body turned towards Deacon, the toe of her boot making little circles in the air under the table. His hand was a little too high up her skirt for public decency, and he alternated between murmuring to her and kissing her neck, her cheek, her lips, lingering only long enough to make her lean towards him for more.
Despite himself, Luke watched them for a few moments. He'd almost convinced himself he'd imagined them, or at least imagined the way they were with each other, that obvious heat between them. It irritated him as much as it captivated him; jealousy wasn't his favourite quality, but he possessed it by the bucket-load. He'd managed to forget quite how beautiful Rayna was, but it was harder to do when she was right in front of him.
She laughed at something Deacon crooned into her ear, and her gaze lifted from the papers in front of them towards the empty stage. She caught Luke's eye somewhere in the middle, and he waved awkwardly, feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Rayna beckoned him over, and there was no refusing her.
"Well hey again,' he said when he drew closer, and even Deacon acknowledged him.
'I wondered if we'd see you again,' Rayna said, and to his shock she extricated herself and stood to hug him. He would be the first to admit he perhaps took advantage of having her pressed against him, but he didn't know if the opportunity would present itself again, and she was soft as a damn kitten.
'You up tonight?' he asked when she pulled back, but she shook her head.
'We're here for moral support - we know the band playing, the singer is Deacon's best friend.' She slid back into the booth and gestured to the opposite seat when Luke hesitated. 'Sit with us - you want a drink?'
'I got 'em,' Deacon said before he could answer, and Luke tried not to see her eyes follow him as he disappeared in the direction of the bar.
'Heard you guys have been scorin' a lot of gigs,' he said when he had her alone, wiping his sweaty palms discreetly on his jeans.
'Yeah,' she shrugged, 'a decent amount. We're not there yet though. How's it goin' for you?'
Luke had asked around after that first gig, finding out what he could about her. Nashville was a small enough town with loose lips and word travelled easily; Rayna Jaymes, daughter of Lamar Wyatt, teenage tearaway according to him, promising musician if you listened to everyone else. A waitress at a cafe she'd worked at had spilled more than a few details to an innocently inquisitive Luke: She'd met Deacon at a writer's night at The Bluebird a couple of years earlier, helped along by none other than Watty White, and they'd been playing together ever since. She'd moved into the East Nashville apartment he shared with his old buddy Vince, a favour he'd offered to her when her daddy had booted her out of the family home, but they'd fallen for each other at lightning speed and she'd never left.
'It's goin', you know. Got a couple of support slots comin' up. I wanna be signed within the year.'
Rayna raised her eyebrows. 'Within the year,' she repeated, 'good for you. I'm sure you'll get what you want.'
'Sure will,' he said, winking at her before he could stop himself. She gave him a friendly grin, and he clenched his jaw - Jesus, what he wanted was her. Her and a record deal. Now those were two things that would go nicely hand in hand; he pictured himself being the one to sing with her, for them to get famous together.
She sipped her almost-empty beer. How in the hell a girl like her had gone for a kid from the wrong side of the tracks with a permanent three-day shadow was beyond Luke. He looked down at his own scuffed boots, the ones he'd lifted from his brother the night he'd hitched a ride to Nashville in his bid to hit the big time. It could have been him, he thought, it could so easily have been him, if that was what she was into - a guy with a song for every penny he didn't have, a regret for every step that had gotten him this far.
He wanted to save her, to give her everything she wanted that Deacon Claybourne surely never would.
Deacon reappeared, bottles in hand, and slid one across to Luke. 'Vince has popped a string,' he said to Rayna, sitting himself next to her, 'gonna lend him my Gibson. He's havin' a bit of a breakdown back there.'
'Are you kiddin' me? He's gonna pop more than a string if he screws this up. They've been rehearsin' for this for weeks, he's not gonna waste another chance. I'm gonna go talk to him - slide over.'
She swatted at Deacon's arm to get him to move and he stared at her adoringly, tugging on her hand as she got up and pulling her back to him so he could kiss her. She let him idle against her lips for a moment before snapping to her full height, picking up his guitar propped next to the booth and sashaying off.
She couldn't have seemed any less like she needed saving. Rayna was so much more than a little rich girl looking for a wounded soul. It struck Luke that maybe she was the one doing the saving, or at least that it was mutual, that Deacon needed her every bit as much as she needed him.
/
They'd been joined by Rayna and Deacon's friends after the set had gone off without a hitch, and Luke had gotten his chance to get up on stage - just the one song, but it was enough to score him a business card and another embrace from Rayna, and he considered that a successful night.
He'd nursed another couple of drinks, lucky enough to have landed himself a seat next to her, and he wasn't entirely sure how it had somehow passed midnight, but the next time he got up to take a leak, a waitress in a wifebeater sauntered over to give them the heave-ho signal.
'Hey man,' Deacon said, as the group filed towards the doors in a cloud of smoke and chatter, and Luke chided himself for checking over his shoulder to be sure he wasn't speaking to someone else. 'Wheeler,' he said in confirmation, something like amusement on his face. 'We're goin' for a ride - you in?'
They piled into Deacon's rusty truck parked a couple of alleyways over, Vince - the roommate - stretching out in the bed, whooping in exhilaration as they navigated potholes on their way to nowhere in particular. It was a balmy night, the air warm and sweet, the cicadas loud, and they sped along the empty open road, windows down, radio on.
Rayna, sitting up front between Deacon and Luke, fiddled with the dial and kicked off her boots.
'I love this song,' she said, finding something that hit the right spot and leaning back, singing along. She lifted her legs onto the dashboard, her tiny ripped jean skirt and white shirt not nearly enough to cover her from prying male eyes. Her bra beneath the shirt was black and from what Luke could tell, a little lacy and very well-filled, though he tried valiantly not to look. How Deacon ever managed to concentrate on anything but her was a mystery, he thought to himself, a second before noticing him staring down at Rayna darkly, paying no attention to the road and breathing a little heavily.
They drove twenty minutes, a half hour maybe, and pulled up in a clearing, the moon and a distant farmhouse the only givers of light. Deacon jumped out, helping Rayna down the step; she landed gracefully on the dry ground and kept ahold of his hand, and he leaned into the back of the truck and took the six pack Vince tossed down.
The rest of the band had beaten them there and the off-the-bat music they were making drifted through the tall dry grass; they'd got a fire going, and a line of smoke curled up towards the sky, the smell of something sweet roasting on the flames enticing them closer.
'Not a bad song tonight man,' Deacon said as they walked, clapping Luke on the back. 'Half decent lyrics.'
'They're a work in progress - lyrics aren't really my strong point. I prefer to sing the words than write 'em.'
'Needin' a little heartbreak for inspiration?'
Luke laughed. 'Not so much.' He looked at Rayna, walking ahead with Vince, stroking blades of grass with the tips of her fingers as she moved though it. 'Your stuff on the other hand - pretty deep, from what I've heard of it.'
'I guess it is, yeah,' Deacon said modestly. 'That's why I write, gotta get it out somehow. It's why Rayna needs the music too. Open a vein, you know, create somethin' beautiful from somethin' ugly. Makes it all feel like it has a purpose.'
'That why you need each other too? Give yourself a purpose?'
Deacon laughed softly. 'That somethin' beautiful, that is Rayna. She could make the worst nightmare into somethin' worth wakin' up from. Ain't no purpose I could want more than her.'
That was the first moment Luke saw a glimmer of what had Rayna so hooked on Deacon Claybourne. There would be other moments, each overshadowed by his jealousy, but he would always know, deep down in a place he would try to ignore: Rayna would always be Deacon's.
/
The moon was directly above them, pale and almost-round. Luke sat on flattened grass with his elbows on his knees, a plastic cup of unidentifiable alcohol wedged between his feet.
Rayna lay beside him with her hands on her stomach, one foot thrown over the other, tapping in time with the tune emanating from Deacon's guitar. She joined in with his harmonies here and there, an unconscious smile on her lips.
They were a decent group of guys, Luke had discovered. He guessed they'd started out Deacon's friends, but they were clearly very fond of Rayna, one of only two girls, and she was as much one of them as anybody.
'I love this,' she said on a sigh, about nothing specific, about everything maybe. 'Music, it's all music.' She looked up at the moon, and Luke noticed how it coloured her face silver, made her hair glow. The contentment in her was contagious, and he leaned back to lay next to her.
'My daddy would hate this, he would hate me being around all this music. But this is right where I'm supposed to be.'
'Your daddy not a fan of country?' Luke asked, hungry for her to tell him everything about herself, hopeful for a morsel at best.
Rayna laughed. 'No he is not. He doesn't want this for me. Not at all.'
'What does he want for you?'
She turned her head to look at him, adopting a prim smile she'd clearly practised over the years. It didn't reach her eyes. 'A job that requires me to wear a twinset and pearls. Or no job at all, overseeing the maids running my husband's house, because hell, why would I need to get my hands dirty workin' for a livin'?' The smile dropped and he wondered if she was picturing the life she was escaping from, what she would become if she stopped running. 'Lucky he doesn't get to decide my future. Not that it stops him from trying.'
'Sounds like you already decided it for yourself,' he said, and she nodded.
'I wanna be a country music star,' she whispered, as though it was a secret. 'I want to write music all day, play it all night. I want to breathe it.' She looked around at the group, at Deacon who beamed back at her. 'I want this. For always.'
'Hey baby?' Deacon said, and Luke lamented the fact that her this she wanted so badly was all knotted up in him.
He held out his hand and Rayna reached for it, letting him pull her up to sit. Luke watched how carefully he held her, how reverent he was of her. 'Wanna try that song we wrote today?' he asked, pulling a piece of grass from her hair.
'I think it's my favourite that we've written,' she said.
He grinned at her and plucked a couple of strings, and she crossed her legs, settling, knees touching his. She started him off, a soft tune falling from her lips, eyes locked together. Their friends scooted closer, conversations trailing off, a couple of the guys picking up their own guitars and following Deacon's sound, rounding him out.
Luke watched something happen between them as they sang. He'd seen it clearly enough that first night he'd met them, but up close, off stage, it was altogether more powerful. The song was raw, as honest a piece of music as he'd ever heard, their voices blending together like they would be incomplete alone, half a melody.
He had never written a song with anybody else. He'd dabbled with his own, and sung other people's lyrics, sure, but he realised with awe how deeply Rayna and Deacon had ripped open and exposed themselves to each other to create something more than a simple song. He saw how it fused them, how they become something potent and heady together. It was strange, he realised that night, how palpable their electricity was, and yet how exclusive it was at the same time, for them only. It was what they did; lured you in without meaning to, led by your own curiosity, and each time you reached out to touch, they shifted, twisted away.
He wondered for a moment what it would be like to write a song with Rayna, if she would look at him the way she was looking right into Deacon.
'You're barkin' up a tree that leads nowhere but trouble there buddy,' Vince said quietly, eyes still fixed on them.
'I'm sorry?'
'You wouldn't be the first poor bastard to fall for Rayna, it's not hard. But if you ain't Deacon, you ain't got a hope, man.' Vince polished off his beer in one long pull and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'That there is signed, sealed and delivered.'
It wasn't a warning, more an observation, and Luke said nothing in response. Deacon put down his guitar and pulled Rayna into him as they finished, their friends murmuring approval. She laughed, looping her arms around his neck and giving herself to him completely, and Luke felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the booze in his belly.
Maybe Vince was right, maybe there was no hope for him, or for any other guy - it sure looked that way. They were fire, like nothing he'd seen before. But fire burned itself out, he told himself.
He would spend twenty years trying to convince himself of the same thing.
#
The next time he saw Rayna she was alone.
Chaos reigned in every direction, roadies and managers and men in suits, shrill girls with meet and greet passes around their necks like gold medallions. It was a big show, in full swing, both of them a little further up the billing, and lost and miserable in the middle of it all was Rayna.
'Well hey there,' Luke said, approaching her with a cautious grin. She looked up from her phone in surprise, and a small trace of relief crossed her face at the sight of someone familiar. 'You okay?'
She nodded, but she looked tired. She was thinner, her smile less easy, though she found it to give to him anyway. 'Yeah,' she said, 'I'm fine. It's good to see you.'
'You too, it's always good to see you Rayna.' If she'd been paying attention to him she'd have noticed the meaning laced through his words, that he'd missed her, that his heart was doing somersaults in his chest.
But she wasn't paying attention. She looked down at her phone again, flipping it open and snapping it shut, something Luke suspected she'd been doing for a while.
'Everythin' alright there?'
'Yeah, gosh I'm sorry,' she said, shaking her head. 'I'm just... I go on in ten minutes, and I can't find Deacon anywhere.'
'He hasn't showed up?'
'No.' She looked down at the ground, and he caught the catch in her voice, as hard as she tried to hide it.
'You haven't... I mean you're still...'
'We're still together, yeah, of course,' she said, as though any other option was ludicrous. 'He's... it's pretty complicated. He's been having some problems, and...' She trailed off and checked her phone again.
Luke had never known her to be anything but composed, and it troubled him to see her otherwise. He had no idea what was going on with Deacon, but he was there, and he knew how to play most of their songs. He'd spent a little more time with them and their friends over the summer, hanging out, gigging around town and drinking with them. He'd learned that Deacon often disappeared - usually with Rayna, to an empty closet or a bathroom stall somewhere. This was another matter, clearly.
'I could fill in for him, if you want. I know your set, seen it enough to pick it up.'
Rayna wasn't someone who accepted help often, but it was a show she couldn't miss, and with ten minutes to go she had little in the way of choices. 'You mean it?'
'Sure I do. I can help you look for him after.'
'Thank you,' she said gratefully, and he beamed at her, thrilled to be able to offer her something. He felt a flash of hope that maybe there was a chance for him after all, just maybe.
Her set went by in a blink. She adopted an impressive mask, performing with all the gusto of a professional, but maintained a careful distance from Luke. He had known she would, that he wasn't a Deacon replacement in every respect, she wouldn't act in the same way with him, but he felt a little disappointed all the same.
Her facade slipped the moment they came off stage. She thanked him as she ran down the steps and beelined for her phone; when she saw there was still nothing from Deacon, no call, no message, she swore under her breath, her face paling. Her hands shook as she closed the phone and took off for the shared dressing room where she'd left her bag, and Luke jogged to catch up with her, keeping good on his promise to help.
'Where do you think he might be?' he asked, walking into the room with her and finding it thankfully empty.
'Passed out somewhere,' she said, a little bitterly. She grabbed her bag and the change of clothes next to it, and he turned around to give her some privacy.
'Passed out?'
There was the rustle of material and the creak of a zip. 'Yeah, somethin' like that. He's just had a lot on his mind.'
She appeared next to him, a flannel shirt and jeans in place of her sequinned stage outfit. Luke nodded, but he didn't need to press any further. He'd known more than a few heavy drinkers, and he recognised the look on her face all too well. He thought back to the times he'd seen Deacon knock back the whiskey shots - he did know how to put them away, and there were times he'd had to be carried out of a bar, but it could easily have been put down to a young guy getting carried away. He certainly did get darker the more he drank, and when he did, he wanted only one thing, even more so than when he was sober; on the few occasions Luke had witnessed it, the attention Deacon focused on Rayna was intense to the point of obsession.
'Where do we start lookin'?'
They found him in the third dive bar they tried. He was in a booth at the back, alone and slumped over a dirty table. Rayna gasped when she saw him, rushing to his side, but she stopped when she got to him and Luke saw her visibly steel herself.
'Deacon,' she said sharply, and he lifted his head and squinted at her, his groggy face surprised, but stubborn.
'Ray,' he slurred, and when she didn't move he reached for her, but she avoided his grasp. 'C'mere baby.'
'We're going home,' she said, and he shook his head, refusing to loosen his grip on the bottle he was hugging. 'Deacon,' she repeated firmly, 'we're going home.'
He let her pull him by the arm, the bottle clattering from the table and spilling its guts on the floor, and leaned his weight into her, almost knocking her over. Luke jumped forward and grabbed his other arm, and Deacon looked at him in confusion.
'Wheeler? The hell you doin' here?'
'Just helpin' you home buddy. You're pretty heavy for Rayna here to carry on her own.'
'You don't need to be helpin' neither of us,' Deacon huffed, trying to pull himself away, but he tripped, and seemed to forget in his struggle to get back on his feet what it was he was pissed about.
They got him back to the apartment and he let them guide him to bed. Luke couldn't help glancing around the room while Rayna got him a glass of water; there were photographs of the two of them stuck on one wall, no frames, dog-eared books stacked on a chest of drawers. Hers, he guessed - Deacon didn't strike him as a reader. A bottle of perfume was on the nightstand next to a pack of birth control pills and loose sheets of what looked like song lyrics, some scribbled out. He peered closer; two lots of handwriting, one flowing and distinctly feminine, the other rough, messy.
'Where did she go?' Deacon's feeble voice asked, and Luke turned to him. He was on top of the covers, his boots on the floor, still and peaceful now, the fight gone out of him somewhere right below downtown.
'She went to get you somethin' to help.'
'Is she comin' back? I need her to come back.' He said it in barely more than a whisper, but when Luke looked in his eyes, they were wide, more lucid than they'd been since they'd picked him up. 'I'm scared she won't come back.'
Rayna appeared before he could say anything, and she gave him a grateful look, sitting down beside Deacon and helping him swallow some water and an Advil.
'We're gonna get you in bed, okay?' she murmured, and Deacon nodded, staring up at her. 'Gotta get these clothes off you first though, you smell like a bad honky tonk.'
He sat up obediently, and Luke tried not to watch as she unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his jeans, the care she took with him, the way he looked at her, even in the state he was in, like she was everything he'd never even dared ask for.
'I'm sorry Ray,' he said as he got under the covers, and she smoothed a hand over his cheek and shushed him.
'I know baby. Just go to sleep.'
By the time Luke left, a cup of hot tea later, Rayna looked years older.
#
The night he tried to kiss her they'd been the only two people on a rusty ferris wheel that had seen better days.
It wasn't that Luke was glad Deacon had failed to show up yet again, far from it; seeing Rayna's turmoil cut him deep, and he would have given anything to take it away. As it was, backing her up on guitar was becoming something of a semi-regular gig, and it was the biggest way he could help.
Deacon hadn't been right for months. Vince had let slip that Rayna had moved out for a while, that she'd stayed on a friend's couch until he'd showed up and begged her to come back. Luke was sure it hadn't taken much persuasion - Rayna's fierce will in every other area of her life was rendered useless when it came to Deacon. Whatever the thing between them was, it had legs, that was for damn sure.
There was something in Rayna lately that was becoming increasingly more present each time Luke saw her; she was growing weary. The determination she had when it came to her career was being knocked sideways, a casualty of her heartache, and though she tried her best to keep it on course and get to where she wanted to be, some nights rattled her more than others.
'I thought he was doing better,' she said, feet dangling over the edge of their carriage. 'He was doing better. I can't believe he's done this again.'
Luke kept mostly quiet, nodding here and there, letting her talk it out. He got the feeling that she didn't do that often, didn't talk about what was bothering her - Rayna Jaymes didn't dwell, she figured out what the problem was and tackled it head-on. This was different. The worst part of it was that she didn't even look surprised - she had come to expect this of Deacon at worst, fear it of him at least.
'This was an important show, he knew that. I needed him with me.' She swallowed hard and turned her face away, her voice strained. 'I need him.'
'What happened to make him so much worse?' Luke asked carefully. He'd seen a definite decline in Deacon, a pretty rapid one, and he was an outsider, really, so he was sure it was a whole lot messier than he knew.
Rayna was quiet for a long time. 'His daddy showed up,' she told him eventually, and it would be all she would say on the subject.
They went a whole revolution before Luke plucked up the courage to ask why she stayed with him. As the words left his mouth he wondered if she might push him out of the rickety carriage for having the audacity, but she didn't. Instead she smiled at him sadly.
'It isn't a choice,' she said. 'You don't find this kind of love to let yourself lose it.' She lifted her chin into the chilly night air. 'Even if it was a choice, I would make the same one - I will choose Deacon, always.'
'Do you choose the life that comes with him?'
'There's so much you don't know Luke. So much you couldn't understand.'
He looked down at the gaudy fairground below, the few people still milling around trying to knock down coconuts. Most had left with sundown, lured home by the promise of warm supper and nightcaps. 'I worry about you, Rayna.'
'You don't need to. I'm fine. It will be fine.'
'Will it?' He held her gaze and watched it waver, her eyes trailing down to her lap. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm herself up, and he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
'Thanks,' she said, her breath sweet on his face, and he couldn't help himself; he leaned closer to her, his eyes on her mouth, one hand settling on her soft cheek.
The second he felt his lips touch hers, she pulled back. He should have known, really, but some crazy part of his brain had convinced him for just a second that maybe this was the moment it all changed.
'Hey,' she said softly, putting a hand on his chest to hold him at a safe distance.
'I'm sorry, damnit I'm sorry, Rayna.' He shook his head ruefully, embarrassed and avoiding her eye, but she tilted herself so she could see his face.
'It's okay,' she said. 'Don't worry.'
'I just... I guess I thought, I don't know, Deacon keeps lettin' you down, he doesn't seem to be makin' you happy. I wish I could be the guy to make you happy.'
'He makes me hurt sometimes, sure - he makes me hurt like hell. But Deacon...' She laughed quietly, suddenly self conscious, and fixed him with a curious expression. 'Did you ever look at somebody, and when they look back at you, it's like seeing through the clearest window, and you know them, like you've known them in a hundred lives before?'
Luke shook his head.
'I know Deacon. I have loved Deacon in every one of those lifetimes. Whatever we put each other through - I'll love him for a hundred more.'
'You don't think there's more than one person for you?'
Rayna thought for a moment, and he watched the wind blow the hair from her face, but he could read her no better anyway. She was a mystery to him, every bit as much as the first time he'd met her. Maybe that was what got him; he wanted to crack her, to understand what she was thinking just by looking at her, like he could, like Deacon could.
'I think there are people you could be happy with,' she said, 'lots of people, maybe. You and me Luke, we could be good together, sure we could. But I love that man, for better or worse, with every bone in my body, and I'm his, whatever happens in our lives. Maybe it comes at a high price, but so be it. Your scars are written on your soul, you know?'
Something told him, up there on top of that creaky ride, that he might just be in for some scars himself, and they'd have her name on them.
#
Trucks were being unloaded everywhere he looked. There was someone yelling, something about a broken amp, and Luke walked in the direction of his dressing room in search of some peace and quiet.
His name was on the door, a gold star affixed to the wood, and he pushed it open, finding the room blissfully empty. There was only one person he wanted in it with him, and he pulled out his phone to call her.
She didn't answer, and he tossed it on the couch and flopped down after it. Opening night always gave him nerves, after all this time; some things never changed.
And then there were the things that did.
You and me Luke, we could be good together.
He looked down at the empty finger on his left hand. It had taken him more than two decades to get here. It wouldn't be empty for much longer.
'Where you goin' Claybourne?'
Luke sat up, his ears tuning in to the conversation outside his door.
'As far away as I can get before I need a passport,' Deacon's voice retorted. 'I'm goin' to my damn room.'
'You gotta be back here for soundcheck. This ain't your gig man, you on Wheeler's payroll now.'
'Don't I know it,' Luke heard Deacon mutter.
His boots stomped away down the hallway, agitation in every step.
Luke sat back and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Deacon was on his payroll, that was a fact - he'd made that decision in his own best interests, and Rayna had agreed - reluctantly, he knew - to join him too. He'd see her every day, sing with her every night, sleep in the same bed as her when the lights had gone down, all while keeping Deacon at arm's length where he could see him.
For all intents and purposes, Luke Wheeler held all the cards. He'd got the girl, he called the shots - he thanked his lucky stars every day.
And yet try as he might, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach.
I will choose Deacon, always.