Thanks for all the comments & PMs. They are loved and appreciated more than you can know. This is more of a continuation of Chapter 8 but my brain wouldn't cooperate with me to write it all at once. So not sure how this flows as seperate units but here we go anyway.

This chapter revolves around Episode 12. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 9

Sixty Three

We've had an awkward elevator ride before.

Deacon, Vince, and I were trapped on an elevator in Scotland once. Edinburgh to be specific. It had been my first European tour. Well less than a tour, more like a 9 city leg to introduce me to the Euro that point.

Deacon and I went sightseeing during the day between interviews and sound check. Then after the show, the three of us went out to "have a more authentic cultural experience" as Vince would call it. Generally, for Vince, "authentic culturally experiences" meant drinking in a bar with locals and taking a girl with an accent back to his hotel. But that particular night, Vince had struck out with every girl in the bar.

So we headed back to the hotel, all three of us stumbling and laughing at nothing in particular. In our inebriated state, we decided to take the elevator as opposed to the steep stairs. The elevator itself was old, one of those European ones that were put in after decades after the hotel was built. Somehow we'd all decided it would be a cool idea to all jump in the elevator at the same time. Yeah, that had not been one of our better collaborative efforts.

It was tight and cramped and for two and half hours we were stuck in there. Forty minutes in and sobering up, Deacon remembered he had a box of playing cards he'd bought as a souvenir earlier in the day.

Vince had been the one to suggest strip poker. Considering Deacon and I saw each other naked all the time, this seemed more like a game to let Vince see me naked. So, Deacon and I gave each other a look and plotted with a smile. We managed to get Vince completely naked before either one of us lost our shoes.

And naked Vince, in a Scottish elevator, for over an hour, with a hotel manager yelling at us from the floor below and Bucky yelling at us from the floor above…still not as awkward as whatever Deacon and I did in the elevator just now.

And my phone has been vibrating like crazy since I turned it back on. 7 text messages and three voicemails from Teddy. And as uncomfortable and weird as whatever that elevator ride was with Deacon, this phone call to Teddy is going to be so much worse.

Sixty Four

I told her that I loved her for the time in Chicago.

I'd been thinking about telling her for weeks. But every time I did, the lump in my throat made it impossible for me to say anything.

I'd written songs telling her I loved her but hadn't actually played them for her, so that didn't count. I'd written love letters with those three words, but I didn't give them to her, so that didn't count either.

But I did everything I could to show her how I felt. I'd write her notes on the bathroom glass when her shower would fog it up calling her beautiful, I'd buy her daisies for no reason, I let her lick the middle of my Oreos. But I still hadn't said the words.

And then Watty set us up with Cal Blocky, a major booker for the Midwest. And we'd driven to Chicago for a three day get-to-know you audition. During dinner, Ray didn't eat a lot for fear of how it would appear. Something about eating too much making her look like a poor starving artist and way too un-lady like. So afterwards, I found some deep dish pizza and something cinnamon to take back to the room.

That night, I just blurted it out while Ray stuffed her mouth with a slice of black olive and sausage pizza. Her blue eyes had gotten wide for a moment. Then she broke into a huge smile, chewed the rest of the pizza and swallowed. After that, she leaned over and whispered, "Babe, you know I love you too."

Then she ate the entire dessert by herself as I just watched her. Eventually, the pizza box ended up on the floor and later that night so did we.

Sixty Five

I am wearing a very short dress tonight.

It's one of two dresses that my buyer got for the tour. Sure, I've worn pants for every show thus far. And I'll admit that tonight I planned to wear those leather pants with the gold top that cost a fortune . But then, I changed my mind.

Today. After our plane landed. And it has nothing to do with Deacon being on our tour now. It has nothing to do with how much Deacon likes my legs.

Sixty Six

I met Collin today.

Nice guy. He does the fire and smoke stuff for Juliette. He has a fancy title: 'Pryotech and Fog Specialist'. He has two children. Both boys. And he had a great joke about blondes. And Collin just happened to be standing outside of Rayna's door after the show. And her door was open.

And while I don't know Collin very well, I do know Ray. And I knew if I stood there, in the open doorway longer than a few minutes, she would find a reason to talk to me. And she did. And I pretended like I couldn't wait for the conversation to end. And I know that pissed her off. So I agreed to stay out of her way. It might help me figure out what I'm doing here.

The truth is, I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. I'm here to work. I'm here to play. I'm here to write music. I'm here to show the world that I'm sober. I'm here to make a living. Those are all true things. But the truth is, I'm here for something else. I'm just not sure what that something else is: To piss off Rayna? Or prove something to Rayna? Or be close to Rayna? I don't even know for sure.

But I do know Collin's invitation to grab a burger sounded good. And considering I'd just told Ray I'll stay away from her, I need to avoid all pizza places with 3 blocks of the hotel.

Sixty Seven

He's wearing green again.

I watch him from the the peephole on the door.

Its early. And he's walking towards Juliette's Penthouse with his guitar in hand. He looks rested and focused. I know I should go out and say something but instead I just stand there watching him through the circular glass. Like a stalker. Like a pathetic schoolgirl. Like...a creepy ex-girlfriend.

I wait a few extra minutes, until I'm sure he's cleared out of the hallway.I am on my way to meet Watty for breakfast. And he and I have a lot to go over. I don't try to contain my smile as I push the button for the lobby. I know Deacon and Juliette have slept together.

But he clearly didn't spend the night with her last night. And for reasons I don't want to think about, I'm happy about it.

Sixty Eight

There have only been a hand full of times when we didn't speak to each other.

Well actually just three. The last time was just a few months ago, when she fired me. I couldn't speak to her then.

The time before that were the weeks after she came back from her honeymoon.

And the only other time was when Ray announced she was getting a tattoo for her twenty-first birthday. She'd been drunk at the time, so I paid it no mind. But a few days later, she drug me into a parlor in Tampa to get my opinion on the design.

She wanted a treble clef on her ankle. Or a pair of glasses with pink tint as a tribute to mom on her shoulder. Then she mentioned a flower on her hip.

I laughed at her. Then I forbid her from getting one.

She stormed off. I apologized but then accidentally called her childish for wanting one in the first place.

She was so mad at me she didn't even speak when I got back to the room. Instead she threw a pillow at me and pointed to the floor. The next morning, she'd gotten dressed without so much as saying 'hey'. At rehearsal that day, I'd tried to make things better but that didn't work.

For two days, we stayed in the same hotel room but she didn't speak to me at all. Every time I tried to apologize or say anything, she'd just raise her eyebrow and say nothing back.

Then finally I just grabbed her and kissed her, pushing her against the bathroom wall. The kiss had been slow and long and deliberate. And then I'd just walked outside and waited. And a few minutes later she came outside sniffling. Ray said she was sorry and I was so glad she said anything to me that I'd just gathered her in my arms. I whispered against her forehead that I'd drive her to get the damn tattoo. She'd just sniffled again and admitted I was right. She said she was just being impulsive and stupid.

A few weeks later, she's surprised me with one of those specialty rub on tattoos. You know, the kind that comes off after about a week. She had my name tattooed with a capital 'I' and a red heart above it.

She had placed it very low on her right hip. I must have run my thumb over the ink a hundred times until it faded completely. Then for Christmas the next year, another non-permanent tattoo had been on my "I wanna be naughty list."

And apparently we aren't talking again now. I stayed completely quiet as she tried to talk to me in the elevator.

I've ridden the elevator four times so far, and I've been alone with her for two of those rides. She's the one who told me how awkward it was for that I was here. So I stayed quiet. Then she baited me by making fun of Boys and Buses and I almost snapped at her. But I had no clue what would come out of my mouth if I started talking.

So I just pushed myself off the medal handrail and exited as quickly as I could. So I guess we aren't talking again.

Sixty Nine

Here we go again.

This morning over breakfast, Rayna told me about her parting ways with Liam McGuiness. It really is a shame. She let me hear the new tracks she recorded and they are wonderful. The songs are new and exciting but they are also clearly Rayna Jaymes' songs .

We split our breakfast meeting discussing her new label, potential collaborators to help her finish her upcoming album, and an idea I've been toying with for my radio show. I felt good about the changes I was seeing in Rayna. She didn't appear to be stuck in the rut she'd been in the last few times I've seen her. As I drank my second cup of coffee, I smiled thinking she'd finally and truly moved on. She hadn't mentioned Deacon at all. It was better for both Rayna and Deacon this way.

But then tonight, I watch as Rayna and I stand on the side of the stage and listen to Juliette and Deacon. I make some comment to Rayna about it being odd to see Deacon up on stage without her. The look in her eyes says it all.

Tonight on the limo ride back to the hotel, I'll tell her that her act has never been better. I'll tell Rayna I think it's a good thing that she and Deacon have finally put some space between them. She'll listen to me. For a while.

But Rayna is stubborn as a mule. She's going to do exactly what she wants to do. She always has done exactly what she wants, regardless of what everybody else thinks or says. It one of the reasons she's been so successful. It's also one of the reasons that I know she won't stand to keep Deacon at arms' length for long. She's doesn't want to let Deacon go. Never has.

That was as evident as ever a few months ago at the Bluebird. I saw Deacon and Rayna sitting in his beat up car after that impromptu performance. They were in there for at least ten minutes before I pulled my cell phone out. I had every intention of calling Rayna's cell phone to disturb whatever was going in that car. But then Rayna had thrown open the passenger side door and ran to her own car.

Based on the look in her eyes tonight, she wouldn't run out of Deacon's car now. As my own grandmother used to say, "Hunker down boys, because here we go."

Seventy

I have butterflies.

And my lips are burning. And I unconsciously lick my lips. My hands are still moving, fidgeting with each other. And I can't stop moving. So I sit on the couch. I stand up from the couch. I walk around the kitchen. I run up the curved stairs to the second floor. I pace down the hallway. I come back down the stairs.

I bring my fingers to my lips, as if that will somehow clear the jumbled thoughts in my head.

And I sit down on one of the chairs in the kitchen. And I'm replay him kissing me. And then I replay me kissing him back.

I know the kiss couldn't have lasted that long but it felt….it felt like it went on and on. And my chest heaves. And my palms are run down the side of my legs. And I walk around the couch twice more.

He told me he was done talking. I don't even know what that means. No, I do know what that means. Every time we almost cross the line or get within an inch of it, I've stop it. And I ramble on and on about how much he means to me and how we shouldn't do whatever we just did again.

And now I'm play with my phone. My fingers itch to press call to the name at the top of my favorites list. I stare over the Chicago skyline for a brief moment. I really shouldn't have Deacon's name listed as the top favorite but I also shouldn't be thinking about kissing him in the elevator.

And I think about kissing him again. And I think about what would be happening now if I had followed Deacon to his room instead of staying on the elevator. Maybe that is his idea of a truce. Maybe he wants to talk about the magazine article.

And now I jump off the couch again to put my phone back in my bag. It's less dangerous in my bag.

Deacon stopped it. Deacon pulled away. That's never happened before. And it unnerves me for so many reasons. When did he have more willpower than me? Why did he stop? Why didn't I? And now I'm literally walking around in a circle, twisting one leg over the other.

I force myself to sit down on the white couch.

We've been to Chicago dozens of times before. We told each other "I love you" for the first time here. We did the Oprah show here. We heard 'Already Gone' on the radio for the first time when we were riding in a limo. And all of those memories aren't helping things. They make me want to go find Deacon.

I trace my fingers lightly over my lips again. Teddy and I have come here for a long weekend once. But I can't seem to think about anything but Deacon.

So I remind myself that Chicago, Deacon, and I haven't always been such a great threesome. Deacon got his stomach pumped at Northwestern once. We'd been celebrating Bucky's birthday with the whole band; he'd been in the bathroom drinking out of the bottle. But that was years ago and minutes ago I was kissing Deacon.

I walk back over to my bag and grab the phone. I know Deacon doesn't text, but I can't talk to him on the phone about this. I need to see him. No that is a lie. I want to see him. And the burn of my lips is fading into a faint spark. I have no clue what I'm thinking or feeling. I don't know what Deacon is thinking or feeling either. That unnerves me. I pause for a minute before pushing six buttons and then press send.

The butterflies are back, worse than ever.

Seventy One

I've been sober for 4,423 days.

Although I guess it's after midnight, so I'm at Day 4,424. That should make me feel good, proud even. It should make me feel something besides…whatever I'm feeling.

The wind is chilling as it cuts through my shirt and the dark night combined with the city lights hurts my eyes. I've got to be at least ten blocks away from the hotel and I bet if I turn around I can see the lights of the penthouse. The penthouse Ray is in. The penthouse she's in right now…with Teddy. The penthouse Ray invited me to. "To talk". To talk about the kiss? Or us? Or the fight we had? Or why I'm on this tour? Or maybe, just maybe not to talk at all?

I stop walking and turn around, seeing the glow of the top floor of our hotel. I don't smile or frown. I just look at the large rectangular lights. I should be up there right now. With her. Talking or laughing or something.

Then finally, between the disappointment and confusion I make out the other feeling coursing through me. Relief.

Because while it's been 4,424 days since I last had a drink, it's only been an hour and half since I kissed her. And and hour and half since she kissed me back. That's 90 minutes since I ran my hands through her hair. And 90 minutes since her hand glided over my back and pressed into the nape of my neck.

And I like that number a lot more right now.