7 WEEKS. God help us all. Get writing people, seriously.
There was a drip in the bathroom that had been driving Rayna mad for hours.
She'd gotten up three times and turned the taps in the sink and the marble bathtub on and off again, watching them like a cat waiting to pounce at the first sign of a leak, but there had been nothing. The minute she'd gotten back into bed and closed her eyes to will herself to sleep, every time... drip drip drip.
She'd been in smaller swimming pools than that damn bathtub. Who needed a tub so big anyway? And the shower - twelve settings, his and hers heads, a freaking bench running along the wall - you know, in case washing your hair just took it out of you.
Rayna closed the bathroom door and padded across the tiles on bare feet, sighing deeply, sleep long since given up on. She opened the glass screen to the unnecessary shower, sat down on the unnecessary bench and leaned her head back against the mosaic tiles.
The tour started three weeks ago. They'd been to fourteen cities so far, played a show every night, extra matinees on weekends. Rayna hadn't been paying much attention to where they were, she'd just gotten on Luke's jet and run through her setlist in her head until it deposited them on solid ground somewhere new. She'd swapped one hotel keycard for another, some gold, some black, eaten room service at a dining table that wasn't hers in a suite that looked much like the last and the next.
She and Deacon hadn't exchanged so much as a word. She sat in the shower with the water off and the door closed, her mind slide-showing through images of him. Deacon, at the side of the stage watching her sing with Luke, in the front row of an empty arena while she did her soundcheck, at the back of the breakfast room while she poured herself hot black coffee and tried to swallow it down. He was everywhere. She didn't know if she was just hyperaware of him, or if he was deliberately putting himself in her path to remind her of his presence. As though she'd forget.
Currently, he was two floors down, four doors to the left. She knew because she made sure to look for his name on the hotel check-in list every time they moved. She told herself it was so that she wouldn't end up running into him at a bad moment when she was unprepared, but why she would accidentally find herself two floors down and four doors to the left, she had no idea.
I wonder if he's awake, she thought. Half a second later the image of Luke's cigarettes-and-tattoos backing singer flashed into her mind and she sat up. Pam had been hanging around Deacon like a bad smell, eyeballing Rayna at every chance she got. It wasn't in an unkind or jealous way, more curious, maybe, but it made her uncomfortable all the same. She wondered what Deacon had said to her, how close he was growing to some woman he'd known for less than a damn month.
Luke had been keeping tabs on her just as much as Deacon had, and if she was honest, between the two of them and Pam, she was feeling more than a little suffocated from all angles.
She turned the dial. Hot water rushed from the plate-sized shower head above her, and she got to her feet and stood under it, her short silk nightdress soaking and sticking to her skin.
The drips didn't bother her again when she slipped beneath the sheets half an hour later in fresh dry pyjamas. She fell asleep before she was aware she was horizontal.
#
They had three hours until showtime. Soundchecks were done, stages set up, nothing left to do but wait. Rayna was in jeans and her favourite sweater, the one she wore when she was home watching Real Housewives marathons she would never admit to while everyone else was in bed. She was in a strange mood, the lights of the arena making her eyes ache like she hadn't been accustomed to them for the past two decades.
'You okay babe?' Luke called, finishing his call and snapping his phone shut. He'd been talking to his manager for the better part of twenty minutes about something Rayna hadn't quite tuned into, and she'd wandered away from him and found a spot in the middle of the floor seats.
Luke strode purposefully towards her, but there was that thing again that she'd been noticing, a little hint of wariness around his edges as he approached her, like she might get up and run away.
'I'm fine,' she said with a smile as he reached her and sat down in the next seat. He peered at her for a moment, but let the subject drop. 'Let's go somewhere,' she said impulsively, standing and tugging on his hand.
'Somewhere like where?' he asked with a chuckle, not moving.
'Anywhere,' Rayna urged. 'Anywhere away from here.'
'What's wrong with here? Right here is great - look at all of this Rayna, it's all for us.'
He gestured around at the controlled chaos, the twenty-foot banners flanking the stage that bore both their names and a picture of them, Luke with his arms around her from behind. The image of Rayna stared back at her like she was looking into a mirror at a stranger she'd maybe passed on the street once or twice. They'd airbrushed out her freckles, she noticed.
'We can't spend all our time in the middle of all this babe, it will swallow us if we let it.'
'What are you talkin' about Rayna? This is where we belong - we get to be on stage every night, all those fans screaming our names back at us, we go home and sleep in fancy hotel rooms. What could be better than that?'
He hadn't mentioned music, Rayna thought, that they were there to share songs that meant something to them. She wasn't sure, examining the thought further, that he'd mentioned the actual music of it all ever, really.
'And the best part of it all, we get to do it together. There's no one I'd rather be on the road with than my beautiful fiance.'
He took advantage of her momentary hesitation and grasped her hands, and she let herself be pulled onto his lap. His kiss was warm and enthusiastic, as it always was.
'Ms Jaymes, Mr Wheeler?' someone called. 'There's a reporter here from People, he said your manager told him to come right on in Mr Wheeler?'
'Sure did!' Luke told the stage hand, waving for him to bring the reporter over. 'Thought we'd squeeze a little pre-wedding scoop in seeing as we got a while before the show!' he said, grinning at Rayna. 'He wants to talk about your dress. It'll be fun babe,' he assured her, kissing her cheek when she gave him no response. 'Promise I won't read the magazine if you tell him anythin' your groom shouldn't see before the big day!'
#
The hotel bar that was hosting their afterparty was teeming with band members and journalists, clinks of glasses and post-show chatter buzzing around Rayna, who had played nicely for a while before extricating herself and sitting down at the end of the long bar. She stretched her neck from side to side, resting her elbows on the cold wood and swilling her soda around its glass.
'You mind?' Pam said, and Rayna looked up to see her in the mirrored wall behind the rows of half-empty liquor bottles, fresh with a sheen of stage-sweat, her rock T-shirt designer-ripped. She sidled up to Rayna and straddled the stool next to her before she had a chance to say whether she did, in fact, mind, and held a full shot glass out in offering. Rayna raised an eyebrow.
'Humour me,' Pam said, handing it to her. 'Great show tonight.'
'Thanks...'
'Always hard to wind down after afterwards, don't you find? You need a little liquor to take the edge off. Or a little sex. Cheers.'
She knocked the drink back, and Rayna watched her swallow it without so much as a flinch.
'Course you can crank out the songs when you can't sleep.'
Pam winked, and Rayna tightened her grip on the cold glass. She wouldn't have been able to write a single song during this tour to save her life. It troubled her, how closed off she felt, but she didn't want to look at why, and she certainly didn't want to think of Pam indulging in sex and songwriting with Deacon. She threw the drink to the back of her throat and relished the way it burned.
'So we haven't exactly chatted much, huh?'
'No,' Rayna said, 'we haven't. How long you been singin' with Luke?'
'Three or four years. Gotten to know him pretty well.'
She nodded, not sure what she was supposed to say in response.
'He talks a lot about you. Not everybody's as forthcoming.'
Here it came, The Deacon Chat. She didn't know why his damn girlfriends, if that was what Pam was, always wanted to have it with her - they could Google if they wanted details, it would be easier all round. She braced herself.
Pam, however, wasn't like his other girlfriends.
'You don't seem like you're so into this tour,' she said, and Rayna stared at her. 'Must be a little awkward for you, having both of them here.'
'I...' she started, trying to come up with a way to brush the topic away, but Pam was looking at her with no judgement whatsoever, and it threw her off track. 'Yeah,' she admitted, 'it's awkward.'
'Bet you're wishing you never agreed to it, right?'
Rayna allowed herself a smile, one that said what she never would - she didn't know why the fuck she had agreed to it.
'Luke have any idea how much Deacon's still pining over you?'
Luke was across the room, talking loudly with one of his bandleaders, something about changing the set so he could perform one of his rare slow numbers before the crowd got too wasted to appreciate it.
'Whatever his reasons for getting you both out on this tour,' Pam said when she didn't answer, 'I'd say he's marked his territory pretty good.' She jerked her head towards the seven-carat on Rayna's finger. 'And they say size isn't everything.'
Rayna stared after her as she hopped off her stool and walked away, tossing an easy smile over her shoulder.
/
Luke was a fan of working the room. Rayna watched him downing drinks with a couple of promoters he'd invited along, one of them clapping him on the back and looking over at her. Luke lifted a glass in her direction and she nodded back, giving him a little wave and ordering a vodka to dump into her soda. It made her feel uncomfortable, having her laundry aired by proxy, her personal business shared with complete strangers, but Luke seemed perfectly at ease with it.
She wandered over to one of the leather couches, exchanging polite hellos with a couple of people on the way, and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her and nursing her drink. She was wondering if she could slope off to her room without anyone noticing when the cushion sagged next to her and she looked up to see Deacon, in his signature shirt and jeans, so familiar in the midst of everything that wasn't.
'Hey,' he offered, and Rayna smiled at him, aware that she probably looked a little too much like she was dehydrated in a desert and he was an ice cold glass of water. 'How you doin' Deacon?' she asked, her body twisting naturally towards him.
He shrugged, looking around. 'About as good as you. You look like you haven't slept in three weeks Ray.'
'It's only been three weeks?' she said, stifling a yawn on cue.
'Wheeler keepin' you awake huh?' a passing roadie she'd never seen before asked with a wink, and Rayna felt Deacon stiffen next to her.
'Nice,' he said under his breath, scowling at the guy, who held up his hands and made a swift exit, right as Luke beelined in their direction. Before she could say anything he was there in front of her, clapping Deacon on the shoulder a little too aggressively, despite his jovial expression, and reaching for her hand.
'What does a guy have to do to get his wife-to-be into bed, hmm?' he asked, catching her around the waist.
She gave him a self-conscious laugh and held him at arm's length, willing him not to say anything else. 'I was just about to go upstairs actually, I could use some sleep.'
'Then let's get out of here,' Luke said. 'G'night Deacon.'
'Night,' Deacon returned, aimed at Rayna rather than Luke, and she looked back at him sheepishly as Luke steered her away.
They headed towards the foyer to get to the elevators, passing Pam and her gaggle of loud, mostly male friends. Rayna made the mistake of catching her eye, wishing immediately that she'd hadn't.
See? her expression said, and she lifted a glass in the air, her eyes trailing over to where Deacon sat alone.
#
It never ceased to amaze Rayna how good she and Deacon were at not talking. For two people who made their living from words, and who could communicate with none at all, they sure were atrocious at holding actual conversations.
Of course, it was a good move on Luke's part having her co-headline with him. Their interviews were joint, their rehearsal times overlapped so they could do their soundchecks together, their schedules were coordinated in every possible way. She wouldn't have had a minute to talk to Deacon even if she'd known what to say to him.
Four weeks into the tour and she'd had maybe an hour away from Luke, in total. She was starting to go a little crazy, if she was honest, the need for time to herself and her irritability levels growing with every passing day. She craved a long hot bath with no one in a ten mile radius, or a quiet walk without any press on her tail. Hell, she'd take cleaning the damn kitchen, as long as she was the only one in it.
And so Rayna found herself ecstatic, guiltily so, when Luke announced that he was using their only night off to fly to New York to make a guest appearance at one of Sara Evans' shows. Rayna firmly turned down the offer to join him, to his displeasure, citing the need for some quality time with a facemask and an exfoliator brush, but he accepted it all the same.
Everyone else would be making their way to the next town, where they would spend a gloriously empty night, and Luke would fly in and meet them there the following day. Bucky was back in Nashville for a couple of days, saddled with the task of wedding venue visits with Tandy to find somewhere big enough to hold people Rayna hadn't seen in years. They'd settled on a date, eventually, a Saturday just before Christmas, when they were back in town on a break from the tour just long enough to get hitched, have a quickie honeymoon and throw up some tinsel to celebrate the holidays.
'I'll see you in Nebraska,' Luke said on the morning they headed their separate ways, pulling Rayna close in the middle of the hotel lobby, right in front of the glass entrance where the paparazzi were crowded trying to get a glimpse of them.
She guided him around the corner, out of the cameras' line of fire, and kissed him quickly. He had an odd look on his face, as though they were parting for months rather than a few hours, and she squeezed his arm reassuringly. 'Yeah you will,' she said. 'Say hi to Sara.'
He looked reluctant as he headed for the doors, but he let the doorman hold them open for him anyway and got into the shiny black town car waiting to take him to the airport.
Rayna had refused to travel by private jet, opting instead to grab one of the tour buses. They set out on the road after a late breakfast, and she climbed onto the bus Bucky had sorted a space for her on. It was no surprise to her that Deacon was already on it, and he looked up when she appeared, saying nothing.
She settled herself on one of the couches and watched the hotel disappear as they pulled away, the streets of houses becoming open road and gas stations. The wheels hummed underneath her and she breathed a sigh of relief; she was comfortable on the bus, it felt more like a tour, the guys playing cards, strumming guitars, nobody walking around in a hostess uniform offering hot towels and canapes.
Deacon sat on the opposite couch, head against the glass. Pam had tried sitting next to him as they'd set out, but he'd brushed her off; she'd accepted the rejection with grace and was chugging back beers with the rest of the band, seemingly unaffected.
It wasn't lost on Rayna that they were headed to Omaha. She remembered all too clearly the first time she'd been there - he'd been with her then, just as he was now. They'd been so young, so unaware of all that was to come, their only cares each other and their music, and the handful of people they were rolling into town to play it for.
They'd stayed with his crazy Aunt Mae on the ranch she'd lived on with her two ex-husbands and their herd of cattle. She'd never had any children, favouring cows over kids, but she'd always had a soft spot for Deacon and when he'd called to tell her they were to be passing through, she'd had a pot boiling on the stove before he'd hung up the phone.
They'd arrived early one evening, Rayna clinging to Deacon's hand nervously as they'd walked up the rickety porch steps. Ex-husband #1, Uncle Earl, had been smoking a pipe in a rocking chair, and he'd let out a low whistle as they'd approached, tipping his hat at them.
'Skinny sprig of a thing last I saw you. Got some meat on your bones and a looker of a girl on your arm now, ain't you?'
Aunt Mae had quickly set about feeding them up, ignoring Rayna's polite refusal of second helpings. She'd never eaten as much stew in her life, and it just kept coming, much to Deacon's contentment.
'Gonna need your strength you gonna keep up with a Claybourne,' Mae had told Rayna curiously when Deacon had been out of earshot. 'Enough demons to chase him outta town, that boy, and you better be ready to run with him, girl, he won't be lettin' you go.'
She hadn't fully understood her meaning back then, before the days of rehab stints and blackouts, but those words had stayed with her as the years had passed. She'd been right, of course.
They'd sat on the porch the rest of that night, Uncle Jimmy - Mae's second marital casualty - telling them stories from his days working the land as a boy. Rayna would never forget how sweet the air was, how much it tasted like honey and warm bread. It had been the first time she'd met any of Deacon's family, and though he hadn't seen them in a long time at that point, blood was blood, as far as Mae was concerned. They would be the only members of his family she would ever really get to know, aside from his temperamental sister, infrequent though their visits to the ranch would be.
'You marry that girl,' Mae had told Deacon sternly that night when they'd stood to head to their - separate - bedrooms. 'Don't be a fool now.'
They'd been sent to collect eggs from the hen hut early the next morning, chivvied out the door with a flask of bitter coffee and a bucket. Deacon, suffering the effects of a night without Rayna next to him, had gotten her out of sight of the house as quickly as he could and had his mouth on hers the first second he thought he could get away with it.
'Deacon,' she'd warned, fingers tangling in his hair in contradiction. 'You just know Uncle Earl's got a shotgun under his bed, he won't stand for a horny Claybourne boy tryin' to corrupt a girl in a cornfield.'
'Those damn no good Claybournes,' he'd breathed into her ear, his warm tongue flicking out and making her shiver.
'It'll get round the whole town if someone sees us.'
'No one knows who we are,' he'd said as he'd lifted up her dress inch by inch, his fingertips sliding up her thighs.
'Not yet,' she'd told him thickly, swatting his hands and letting him tug off her underwear and lay her down in the long grass anyway. He could get her to do anything, back then.
'She's right you know,' he'd whispered as he'd rocked into her, 'I should marry you.'
'But you're a fool, Deacon Claybourne. You're a damn fool.'
/
She felt his eyes on her from across the bus, and she didn't need to look at him to know he was replaying the same memory. She looked anyway, unable to help herself - she needed to see the face of that boy she'd loved so desperately for so long.
He gave her the smallest smile and she blushed, returning it.
They never were any good at conversations. They didn't need to be.
#
She unpacked for the first time since they'd set out on the tour. They were only in Nebraska for three days, but the need to put down some roots, however fleeting, saw her with a glass of wine from the mini bar in her hand and half her suitcase on the floor at her feet.
She was knee-deep in a closet made apparently just for shoes when she heard the knock at the door.
'Hey,' she said when she saw Deacon standing there, just as she'd known he would be.
'Hey Ray,' he replied, an uncertain look on his face, as though he was scared she would send him away. On the contrary, she wanted more than anything to step aside and invite him in, but it would be a reckless move, she knew. She leaned against the doorframe instead, trying not to let her mild Chianti buzz accentuate how attractive he looked.
'So we got the night off, pretty big novelty right now huh?'
She laughed, wiggling her toes in the plush carpet and letting her head rest against the wood. 'Sure is.'
'You got plans?'
She should have said yes, and told him she was busy writing songs, catching up on bad TV, washing her hair.
'No, no plans. You?'
Deacon grinned. 'Nope. But I was thinkin', seein' as we're here and all, I might go see Mae up on the ranch with a couple of the guys in the band. You know how good her meatloaf is.' He cleared his throat nervously and shrugged. 'Feel like joinin'?'
It wasn't an invitation extended solely to her, he'd been careful with that one, and she appreciated it. Surely it couldn't hurt, spending the night with the group of them, sitting around a fire eating s'mores, catching up... They certainly had a lot to catch up on. Maybe now was the perfect time.
'I'd love to,' she said, and it was the first time in months she'd seen him smile.
/
Aunt Mae, it turned out, hadn't changed a bit in the years since Rayna had last seen her. She was a brute of a woman, taller than Rayna and three times as wide, dark grey hair in a plait down her back. There was no question she was still a force to be reckoned with, possibly even more so with the passing of time; she wiped her big hands on what looked suspiciously like the same apron she'd worn twenty years ago, and chivvied the lot of them, Rayna, Deacon and a handful of their old bandmates - who were now in Deacon's band - into her kitchen.
'The lot of you look like you haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks. What're they feedin' you on the road, dry crackers?'
As she bustled about preparing jugs of tea and slapping the hands of anyone who tried to help, Rayna looked around, letting herself drift back in time, something she'd been doing more and more lately. A half-plucked turkey sat on the well-scrubbed central island, a freshly baked rhubarb pie bigger than one of the wheels on their tour bus on top of the stove. A picture of Uncle Earl, who had passed away some ten years earlier, hung crookedly above a wide fireplace next to a painting of Duke, Mae's favourite cow.
It smelled the same, Rayna realised. Biscuits and burnt sugar, dry hay wafting in from the fields. Dogs of varying sizes and levels of scruffiness roamed about the house at their will, pausing to peer at their visitors with little interest. The chipped piano was still in the exact same spot in the wide hallway, a stool that would hold precisely half of Mae's left buttock tucked underneath it.
Uncle Jimmy was sat on the back porch, looking for all the world like he'd probably only moved in the past two decades to use the bathroom. His white hair was still past his chin, his huge ears protruding through the straggly strands, and his denim shirt was half open despite the season. He creaked back and forth in his chair, greeting them as they filed out of the kitchen door under strict orders to sit down and drink their tea.
'Long time, Uncle Jimmy,' Rayna said warmly, bending a little to his height, and he plucked the cigar from his mouth and pressed a delighted kiss to her knuckles, giving her a toothless smile.
'Surely it's only been a blink or two, look at you, pretty as a flower.'
She smiled at him, looking up when she felt Deacon next to her. He was holding two muffins, little chunks of strawberry peeking out of them.
'Remember these?'
'Well of course I do,' Rayna replied, taking the one he held out to her. It was still warm from the oven. 'Aunt Mae always baked these when we came here. Best muffins I've ever tasted in my life.'
Deacon's eyes crinkled. 'Remember she gave us that tin full of them to take on the road with us and we ate the whole lot before we even got as far as the next town?'
'If she hears you say that she won't let us have any more.'
They sat in the mismatched array of chairs scattered around the porch, and true to form, it took only a few minutes for someone to get a guitar out. Uncle Jimmy, they discovered, still played a mean fiddle, and for someone so commanding, Aunt Mae had a sweet voice that floated out of the open kitchen door to join their melody.
The smells from inside made Rayna's mouth water, and she snuggled down in her chair, hugging her knees and watching Deacon while he sang. This was how she loved him best: music pouring from him as naturally as his breath, open air flushing his cheeks pink and healthy. This was what he was born for.
The sun went down steadily, sinking over the fields and colouring everyone golden. Rayna watched until it disappeared, drinking it in. She was aware, until it overcame her completely and she wasn't, of a calm she hadn't felt in a long time, of the stress that had made her shoulders tight and her belly knot for weeks draining away with the light.
She heard Deacon's voice coming from the kitchen on her way back from the bathroom after they'd eaten an obscene amount of muffins, and she wasn't sure why she hesitated, but she found herself padding to the door and standing beside it, wanting to listen to the rumble of his voice. If she let herself, she could so easily believe two decades of mistakes and missteps had never happened, that hands on clocks hadn't moved at all.
'Let me help you with that,' Deacon said, and she peered through the shadows and saw him grab a dishcloth and lift a pan from the stove just before its contents bubbled over.
Mae, ever the matron, whipped the cloth from his hands and smacked him about the head with it. 'What in the hell is wrong with you boy?' she demanded, and Deacon held his hands up in surprise.
'I... I was just tryin' to stop the pot from spillin' over,' he said in a mixture of amusement and confusion, and Rayna covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing. He looked like a little boy when he pulled that face, she thought with a fondness that made her chest ache.
'You do not listen, Deacon Claybourne, that's your problem,' Mae said, clipping him again. 'The size of the rock on that girl's finger - just what is it you're doin'?'
Comprehension dawned, and he shrugged his shoulders.
'That ain't my rock.'
'I know it's not your damn rock, so what is it doin' there on her pretty little hand?'
'She's marryin' Luke Wheeler.'
'I know that,' Mae said as though he was telling her the earth was round. 'You think we don't read the papers up here? That ain't what I'm askin'.'
She put the pan back on its ring and turned the flame down to a subtle flicker, waving her hand at him. 'Pass me that spoon would you, you're gonna test this stock and see it doesn't taste like Uncle Jimmy's socks.'
Deacon obliged, watching her scoop a good mouthful out of the pan and slurping a little off the edge when she directed it at him.
'Tastes amazin',' he said honestly, licking his lips. 'Not a hint of sock.'
'Well good, don't you be thinkin' I ain't the best cook in this Godforsaken town.' She shooed him into a chair and tossed the spoon into the deep sink. 'So what're you gonna do about your situation?'
'I'm sorry?'
'You are two pigs short of a barbeque, Deacon. Do you even see her? That girl ain't sittin' out on my porch gazin' up at Luke Wheeler, is she?'
Deacon sighed heavily. 'She ain't gazin' at me either Mae.'
'Aunt Mae,' she corrected without missing a beat. 'You mark my words, that diamond ain't worth more than the dead presidents that poor shit paid for it.' She shook her head pityingly and stirred her stock. 'Hope he kept the receipt.'
'Rayna's set on marryin' him, I've tried convincin' her otherwise. I don't know what else I can do.'
'She ain't walked down no aisle yet, has she? Don't you sit on back and let another man make her his wife.'
Deacon had no reply, and the look on his face was more than Rayna could take. She backed down the hallway without a sound and let herself out of the front door, making her way around the outside of the house to get back to the porch, cursing her curiosity.
They'd moved into the garden and lit a firepit while she'd been gone, and the warmth from it cut through the chill of the evening. She settled herself against one of the thick logs arranged around the fire and accepted the hot cup of coffee Billy, Deacon's drummer, handed to her.
'You look like you could use somethin' a little stronger,' he said, holding out a steel hipflask, but she shook her head.
'I'm good, thanks,' she told him, pulling her soft-knit sweater tighter around her and wrapping her hands around her cup. 'One sip of that and I'll be fast asleep.'
'Hey,' Deacon said, and she looked up to see him standing before her. 'This log taken?'
'Nope.' She motioned for him to sit next to her, a little surprised that he would want to after his conversation with Mae. 'It's got your name on it.'
He dropped down beside her and leaned back, taking in a deep breath of the sultry, smokey air. 'Funny, bein' back here. Been a long time.'
'It sure has. Hey, you remember that time we found Uncle Jimmy sleepin' in with the horses to get away from Mae's snorin'?' Rayna laughed. 'I wonder if he still does that.'
Deacon let out a chuckle, his face towards the sky. It was a clear, beautiful night. 'I'd bet every dime I have on it. Ain't a whole lot changes out here.'
'No,' she murmured, her eyes on him. 'Feels just like it did all those years ago.'
He turned and looked at her for a long moment. Before either of them could tell themselves to think twice, he'd reached for the hand at her side, squeezing it gently. He didn't let go.
'I'm sorry, Deacon,' she said quietly, linking her fingers with his and squeezing back. 'I'm so sorry.'
'I know.'
'No,' she shook her head, struggling to keep her voice steady, 'I need you to hear it. I need to say it. We never... There's so much we don't say. We expect that the other just knows, and maybe we do, but... I need to tell you I'm sorry. I need to tell you why I didn't run after you that night in my kitchen, why I haven't been able to give you an answer since.'
'Why haven't you?'
'Because I didn't know how - I didn't know what to say. It isn't a black and white decision, choose you or choose Luke - it just doesn't work that way. I haven't been able to give you an answer because I haven't had an answer to give.'
'So how does it work Ray?' he asked, his voice cracking a little, and she took his hand between both of hers and held it to her chest, over her heart.
'I can't just jump back in, Deacon,' she whispered. 'I wish I could. God I wish I could. You - you're always right there on the edge, ready to hurl yourself down the ledge towards what you want, and damn the consequences. You don't seem to fear the way I do. I've jumped so many times, but I've been burned so badly, by you and by myself, that I can't do it again.'
She let a hot tear fall down her cheek, and he reached out to wipe it away with the back of his finger, lingering just a little too long and setting her entire body sizzling. It wasn't fair, the way he could do that, the way they did that to each other.
The fire before them hissed, something in its depths catching and crackling. She pulled back from him, dropping his hand.
'You know the only thing more terrifying than the way I've always felt about you?' She looked him straight in the eye and confessed her secret to him, to herself. 'The thought of not letting myself feel it for the rest of my life. But I'm getting married in less than two months, Deacon, we both need to find a way to be okay with that.'
She got to her feet before he could say anything, taking off inside the house and insisting she help Mae with the cooking. He didn't follow her.
/
They'd all opted to stay the night, the lure of patchwork quilts beating out scratchy hotel sheets, and for a house so rattly, there were only a couple of rooms that weren't full of junk or claimed by stubborn dogs who refused to share.
After they'd eaten so much they could barely move, Mae set them up at the far end of the house, putting Rayna and Deacon in a room with Billy and their old bass player, Miles.
Rayna, her heart already sinking at the thought of sharing a room with Deacon after avoiding eye contact with him all the way through dinner, walked into the room, took one look at the two pullouts and the single bed, and quite seriously considered bunking in with Uncle Jimmy.
'I ain't waking up to find you spoonin' me in that bed Billy, that is for damn sure man,' Miles said. 'You two know each other... better. Bed's all yours.'
'Sleepin' in a room with you three,' Rayna said, trying her best to lighten the mood, 'what in the world must I be thinkin'.'
It took about thirty seconds for the guys to fall asleep. Rayna lay on her side, staring out of the curtainless window and trying to will her body to stay on her half so she wouldn't wake up sprawled all over Deacon. The pillow was soft under her head, the occasional owl hooting outside, and she let herself relax.
'Ray,' Deacon whispered, and she jumped. He'd been perfectly still, his breathing even, and she'd assumed him fast asleep too.
She turned over to face him. 'Yeah?'
'Know what makes it easier to jump?'
'What?' she asked, her heart pounding.
'Havin' somebody to hold your hand.'
Neither of them said another word, and she didn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing she knew it was light outside, and soft rain was pattering on the window.
When she opened her eyes, after the first real night's rest she'd had in weeks, her fingers were entwined with Deacon's in the middle of the mattress.