So sorry for the delay, I had a bit of writer's block on this chapter but shouldn't be nearly as long for the next update. This isn't my favorite chapter which I think is part of the delay. Thank you all for your comments & PMs!

CHAPTER 10

Seventy Two

I'm in Atlanta.

Its 6:15 am, local time. Most of the city still asleep but I'm here. With my carry-on luggage. I don't remember most of the flight. It was quiet and the plane was dark. Most of the passengers were businessmen who slept with their suit jackets on. A few typed on their laptops. I just looked ahead at the cloth seat in front of me. If anybody recognized me at O'Hare or on the plane, I didn't notice.

I follow the signs overhead towards the baggage claim. All I have is my carry-on luggage. I left my five suitcases and most of belongings back in Chicago. Bucky will get all that. At least I hope he will, once he realizes I'm gone. I look into the bag I've carried on. I've got my wallet, a pair of jeans, and a shirt.

I catch my reflection in a large pane of glass. I'm still wearing the same white sweater and the same black pants I was wearing when Teddy told me he wanted a divorce. I'm still wearing the same white sweater and the same black pants I had on when Deacon and I kissed.

I keep hearing Teddy's words over and over again. "I want a divorce." "I am tired of trying to make this work." "We just need to accept this is over." I hear Deacon say "I'm done talking." I hear the preacher announce that Teddy and I "are man and wife." I hear the OB-GYN's voice confirm I'm pregnant with Maddie. I hear Daphne's first cries. I hear my Father's voice telling me to focus on my marriage. I hear fights with Teddy echo in my head. I hear Teddy ask if I slept with Deacon. I hear Deacon's voice yelling at me that I lost faith in him.

I find myself in a cab, heading to a hotel that isn't expecting me for eight more hours. I look down at my watch. I never took it off last night. It's been six hours since Teddy left my hotel room. The second the door closed behind him, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt my skin crawl. I had to get out of Chicago.

And that is why I am in Atlanta. Atlanta will be better.

Seventy Three

We played during the Olympics.

The freaking opening of the 1996 Olympics. Even now, seventeen years later, it blows my mind. We were there when the flame was lit and all the Olympians marched in.

People who had never heard country music before heard it for the first time when Ray and I sang together. It was just a verse and chorus of 'Tonight is Ours.' There were a billion people watching. All those people who didn't speak English listened to Ray and I singing. They listened to our lyrics, to our stories. It truly was history. We made history, not just country music history but actual world history.

One of the few pictures I have in my house is from that night. It's in an expensive frame with a blue border. It matches Ray's dress in the picture. She gave me the frame as one of my Christmas presents in '96. It was the last real Christmas the two of us had. Vince died a few weeks later.

Every time we go to Atlanta, Ray and I talk about that night. And the things we did over the few days after like visiting Olympic village and taking in a few early exhibition games. I would lean over right now and talk to her about it, but she's not on the plane with us.

Buck hasn't said a word about where she is but something's up. Her bags are on the plane, it is just her that is missing. I wonder if she's getting on a later flight, wanting to spend a few more hours with Teddy. That thought makes me sick.

Seventy Four

She missed her cue.

Twice in a row. In twenty years, she's never missed one. She didn't miss a cue when she was throwing up from morning sickness backstage or when I was off stage throwing up from whiskey.

Six days after Vince died she performed beautifully at the Grammys. The same was true three hours after she got the call that Aunt Eleanor died. She'd cried hysterically until the ten minuet call happened. Then she'd washed her face, redid her makeup, and performed one hell of a show.

I've seen her happy, horny, mad, emotional, worried, sick, nervous, and everything else. And she's never missed her lead until now.

And it's my fault. And I have to fix it.

Seventy Five

The second shot of liquor is always the hardest.

That's what Deacon always says. At least that is what he used to say when we spoke about those things. He had a whole theory on the topic. Everyone's first shot is full of anticipation. They are either celebrating something or drowning their misery. Perhaps they're catching up to their friends who are four beers in. Either way, people love their first shot. They love their first shot because people forgot how much things hurt until they experience the pain again.

I felt the pain from being in labor with Maddie but when I remembered it as a duller, quicker pain. Until I had Daphne that is. And now when I look at my girls now, I can't remember exactly how much contractions hurt. Same for liquor. I always forget how much whiskey burns my throat. Or how hot it makes my stomach feels.

But the second shot is different. I hold the glass in my hand, looking at the amber liquid. My tongue still clings to the taste of the first gulp I shot. My throat still burns. My stomach hurls forward in a lurch at the idea of even more coming.

Liam clinks his glass to mine and I hurl the liquid down. I think of my first sho. It had been vodka.

Like most first or important things in my life, it happened with Deacon.

We'd been at Deacon's apartment. One of his roommates had a birthday party and half of Nashville had shown up. My own eighteenth birthday was a couple of weeks away and I'd dressed to impress. In my pushup bra and a low cut shirt. Deacon ignored most of the night, favoring drinking with his buddies and playing host to a bunch of girls he clearly had a past with. I tried to play it cool.

Then Deacon finally paid attention to me, I couldn't say no to whatever he asked. He asked if I'd like a shot.

That night ended badly. Very badly.

At one point during that night, I did a keg stand. And drank out of a watermelon with some kind of clear alcohol. And my so-called date Craig…er….Craig, Craig something or other got into a fight with Deacon.

And Deacon won. I ended up crashing on Deacon's bed. He ended up sleeping on the floor. Of course, about fifteen other people ended up sleeping on Deacon's floor too. But that night had been something else. Deacon and I had made out on his roommate's beanbag chair, half drunk out of our minds.

I smile at Liam as the bartender pours me another shot. I hold my breath as I throw the drink back against my throat. He says something like, "quit thinking so much".

I shake my head when Liam suggests just buying a whole bottle. That just sounds ridiculous. But then the fourth vile of liquid slides down my throat, followed by the fifth. And the bottle seems like a decent idea.

Seventy Six

Ray spent the night with Liam.

That thought just keeps echoing inside my head. And I keep seeing his damn fingers run through her hair. She let him run his fingers through her hair in the damn lobby of the hotel. And she smiled at him when he held her hand.

She never lets me do that in public. Hell, I don't do that in private.

And as the bus rolls out of Chicago, all I want is to punch the damn wall.

I went to Ray last night. I told her she could talk to me. I told her I was here for her and she shut me down. She gave me the whole "I'm fine" bullshit then said she couldn't talk about it.

Obviously that was a lie.

She kicked Liam out of her life, off her record, and obviously he didn't just take that as the last word. And last night she spent with him. Drinking. Like we use to do. I know how Ray gets when she drinks. She gains that little bit of encouragement she needs to do what she wants. And that apparently includes letting Liam him run his fingers through her hair this morning.

I think back to three days before, when my fingers were running through her hair, when we were kissing in an elevator.

And I feel sick to my stomach.

Maybe she came to Atlanta early to meet Liam? Maybe she hates that I kissed her? Maybe she hates herself for kissing me back? Maybe he's who she turns to now to talk about stuff?

I know in my head Ray loves me. No that isn't true, in my head Rayna Jaymes is someone else's wife, the mother of someone else's children, someone else's lover, someone else's best friend.

But in my soul I know.

She hasn't told me that she loves me since I found out about her engagement. I haven't said it to her since she got married. Well, that's not true. But I've only said a couple of times. And even those were years ago. But she knows I know love her. So does Teddy. So does Coleman. So do half the journalist in Nashville.

And what I know, what Teddy knows, what Coleman knows, and maybe a few of those journalist know is that she loves me too.

And that thought makes me relax a little.