I'm honestly not sure how I see this playing out. I guess this is the best possible version of what's going through my head when they finally have this conversation (or lack thereof)... thanks for reading and reviewing! The feedback really does mean so much. And thank you to Shiny Jewel for fielding my insecurity of the timeline so brilliantly. :) Enjoy!
"What the hell are you doing here, Ray?"
Deacon watched Rayna swallow hard and look to feet. He could tell by the twitch in her face that she was somewhat embarrassed. Truth be told, so was he. Once the layers of shock and general confusion were peeled away, finding her here was definitely off his radar.
He'd expected nothing of her sort when he decided to load his truck that morning.
"I just went for a drive, I guess." She spoke softly. "Ended up out here. I didn't think you'd show up."
He scoffed, completely at a loss for words. He wasn't sure anyone could blame him—they'd barely spoken since the Rolling Stone article and what they had said had pertained to nothing but who was picking Maddie up when and from where.
"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, confusion awash on his face.
She shrugged, shoving her hands back into her coat pockets as the awkwardness of the situation became more apparent with each passing beat.
"I don't know. Guess I figured you'd be busy, or something."
Deacon rolled his eyes and stepped towards the door, placing the firewood and groceries on the ground as he fished for his key.
"Well, I could say the same thing about you."
Rayna stood. Suddenly, the air had a different feel about it. Her peace and longing was gone, quickly replaced by the thick heaviness of their lost future; their lost everything.
"Deacon, I think—"
"Aren't you getting married in like an hour?"
He placed his items just inside the door before stretching his arm across the entrance, making it painfully aware that he had no intention of inviting her inside. She pursed her lips, unsure she could blame him. He was clearly hurting—the days old scruff on his face and bloodshot eyes gave that away tenfold.
She looked down at her feet, bracing herself for the first time she'd be admitting it to anyone out loud. Hell, Bucky hadn't even heard it from her. She'd been so adamant on making her career a priority lately that part of her deal to herself when she woke up that morning was to make it take a back seat—her girls and herself were coming first, if only for a day but much, much longer if she had anything to say about it.
"No. That wasn't supposed to happen until tomorrow."
His eyes squinted as he took in her words.
"What do you mean, 'wasn't supposed to'?"
She shrugged sluggishly.
He watched the tears pooling in her eyes and it was obvious to him that they were burning her; but damn it, she would not let them fall. It was her resilience that had always made such a strong impression on him in their beginning, and it looked now to be every bit as consuming.
Knowing this, he turned his head. He couldn't do it.
Wiping her eyes, she brought her vision to the side of his face. Her voice was stronger than it had been all day; definitely more strong than her physical being. She radiated confidence as she spoke, allowing his thoughts to wander to a place he wasn't sure was healthy—is she really about to say it?
"I ended it."
Deacon stared at her; broken, shocked, but somehow… not surprised. He blinked back a few tears of his own, smirking slightly at the irony of it.
Oh, the irony.
He'd imagined this day from the very second he realized she'd failed to show up at the Bluebird. He'd imagined her coming to his door, just as radiantly and confidently as she was now. He'd imagined himself taking her inside, grinning from ear to ear and kissing her and thanking God she was back in his arms.
He'd imagined making love to her until they couldn't fucking move anymore because he needed to feel her constantly; to know that she wasn't a dream.
But his imagination, he'd decided, was a bitch. It was cruel and it was foul and if now was the time for her to be declaring this in front of him, then it was all shot to hell.
There was still so much to say and he wasn't sure it would ever be worth bringing up.
"Well, if you think that's the right thing."
She nodded tentatively, sensing his apprehension.
"It is. For me and for the girls. I know we're all really wanting a break from the cameras."
She flashed him a small smile, trying to ease the tension.
He nodded slowly, lowering his head.
"Yeah, yeah. The cameras. I get it."
"Well obviously it was more than that, at the heart of it. I feel like—"
Deacon stepped out of the doorway and onto the porch, inching closer to her.
Her breath caught in her throat, and he knew she was certain he was seconds away from doing what he always did—delicately placing his limbs and lips on her body and turning her into complete putty in his hands.
But he didn't. He couldn't—there was no point.
He stopped a few inches away from that precipice, folding his arms across his chest. He couldn't deny the heat literally steaming between the two of them in the 34 degree weather, but he felt defeated; cheated, even. He let out a dry cough, a look of desperation drifting through his eyes as he tried to block it—the pain, the looming worsening, all of it—out.
"Why'd you come up here, Rayna?"
Rayna shook her head, seemingly unsure of what the right answer would be for either of them and allowing the truth to take her to whatever place they were going to go to.
"I just… the road was in front of me. I could go anywhere I wanted and without even thinking about it this is where I ended up. I don't know why. I didn't know you were gonna be here. I hadn't planned on telling you like this or seeing you like this."
"Seeing me like what?"
She gestured to his ragged appearance.
"You look like hell. It's a little unnerving, if I'm being honest."
He rolled his eyes. Of course he did.
"Yeah, well I feel like hell. I came up here so no one would bother me and I could just be left alone but I guess some privacy's too much to ask for these days, especially if it involves you."
Rayna sighed and glanced down, the hurt on her face overwhelming him. His eyes softened as he wrestled with his inner demons telling him to leave his guard up when all he wanted was to scoop her up and tell her how sorry he was for everything—that if he had a second chance, he'd make it so completely different for her and their daughter.
"Deacon, what's the matter?"
He stepped back, nearly tripping over the second chair. He could tell her gut was stinging; she was sure he was about to head into another downward spiral but for what, she had no idea.
He wanted so badly to tell her how wrong she was-that he'd never wanted a drink less in his life; that the amber liquid he spent so long thinking he loved and needed was finally costing him everything and he would light matches to all distilleries himself if he could.
He shook his head, turning his back to her.
"Nothing, Ray. I can take care of myself. You came up here and you had your little moment of silence or reflection or whatever so can you just go now?"
She moved behind him, grabbing his wrist before he had a chance to pull it away from her.
"Is this because of the wedding?"
He laughed, turning to face her.
"Jesus Christ, Rayna. Does it always have to be about you? Everything? All the feelings in the universe have to revolve around you, front and center?"
"Deacon, I didn't mean—"
"Sure you didn't!" His voice rose, as did the color in his face. "I'm sure you didn't mean any of it."
He glared at her, yet didn't bother to read her. He couldn't. She was shocked and hurt. Reading her would've meant he caved and he had promised himself before he even saw her today that he would not cave to her.
She can't know.
Pained, Rayna dropped his wrist and wiped a piece of stray hair from her face.
"Is it about that woman? The backup singer?"
Deacon chuckled again, bitterly; masking everything he felt with a veil of contempt for the only woman he'd ever loved and ever would love again.
"Seriously? It's always gotta be about you or some other woman? I can't just have the respect for myself to want you out of my damn face?"
Rayna blinked back her tears, saying nothing.
"I know exactly why you came up here, Ray. You came up here to look back at all the dreams we used to have and think that since you've kicked that bleached teeth son of a bitch to the curb we can try to get 'em back, right? Is that why you came?"
She choked quietly.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Well," He brought his face to hers, eyeing her as seriously as he possibly could. "Leave and take 'em with you. I don't want 'em."
Letting out another cough, he brought a hand up to the tingling in his chest and turned his fit away from her, whispering silent prayers for the fluttering to pass and for her to please just go home before he had a heart attack or something. It would be all he needed to collapse right there.
So wrapped up in trying to calm himself down, he lost himself in the familiar feel of her ungloved hands reaching from behind him and cradling his face.
He grinned sadly. She knew he was full of shit; he could cut her down 50 times with his words but what he actually meant was always going to be a different story.
He closed his eyes, allowing a single tear to spill down his cheek and onto her finger. She wiped it away with such a solid, unwavering grace that he didn't even have to be looking into her eyes to know what was silently being said between them.
He reached up to his face, grabbing her hand and lacing her fingers through his own as he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it ever so gently.
At the sound of her whimpering, he spun on his heels, grabbing her head with both hands and roughly pinning her against the side of the house. His tongue explored her, and hers him. Their hands wildly roamed every curve and turn of the other, and it would have been so easy to let it continue.
He could have had all the bliss, finally, and she could have had her dreams and they could've been happy for the first time in the history of their madness.
But that wasn't in the cards; it wasn't in his cards.
His cards spelled out therapy and medication for a condition that was likely going to kill him in a year without a transplant—and who was going to give a transplant to a drunk who brought it on himself?
He had to spare her that.
She didn't need to be burdened with taking care of him and watching his demons slowly kill him all over again.
He pulled away slowly, painfully, and stepped back.
He stared at her, lost and breathless as he held her hands in his. Nothing was as it could ever be again, he assumed. Nothing was as certain as was his end.
"You need to go, Ray. This can't… I can't."
With that he dropped her hands and solemnly walked inside the house, softly sliding the door shut and locking it behind him.
She stood there immobile for the better part of twenty minutes, trying to dig herself out of her fog. She didn't buy that he didn't want their dreams one bit. She felt his hands and his lips and his breath and she knew he was just as all in as he ever was.
She let a light stream of tears fall softly down her face as she walked to her Escalade, strategizing her next move, as only Rayna Jaymes could do.
She could leave him be, as he claimed he wanted.
Or, she could tear down his walls and fight for them as he had.