Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.
Nashville's Sweetheart
6
Even though Rayna vouched for Deacon and his musical genius, it wasn't enough to convince Watty.
"That's not what you need right now, Rayna," he told her before her gig the Sunday following the coffee shop song meeting. They were at a different bar than where she played on Mondays, and it was actually a bit of a step up. "You need to be singing proven songs by real songwriters. We don't know anything about this kid!"
"That's not true," Rayna protested, following Watty over to his table. "You told me that he'd come into your studio and that he's a killer guitar player!"
"Yes, Rayna – a guitar player, not a song writer. I don't know anything about his songwriting, and I don't really know too much about him as a person."
"Well, I actually know him as a person," Rayna snapped, suddenly feeling angry, "and I think he's absolutely wonderful."
Watty paused and gazed down at her just then, and Rayna understood. She had in essence just betrayed her feelings for Deacon, and she was suddenly afraid of what would happen. Would Watty tell Deacon? Would he tell her father? She couldn't afford for any of that to happen right now. It would completely ruin everything.
"Look, sweetie," he said softly, patting her shoulder. "I get that you seem to... Value this guy, but you can't let him get in the way of your singing. We've come so far. Are you ready to jeopardize this over some guy you met at a bar? How old is he, anyway? He hardly seems like a seasoned songwriter."
Rayna had felt this speech coming, but she wasn't sure how to handle it. It was stupid, really, when she thought about it. She'd known Deacon only a couple of months yet was willing to put everything on the line for him and his music. She hadn't told Watty about how they had written that Christmas song together because she couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd say about that. Maybe the timing just wasn't right; maybe Rayna had to let it all grow and mature.
"You're really onto something here, Rayna," Watty added. "I have a couple people looking into new artists for some smaller, local labels, and you're on their list."
"I am?"
"Yes." Watty smiled at her, and Rayna felt her heart start pounding. That was huge, and if the right person happened to see her perform...
Well, if it ever got to that point, Rayna would be in deep trouble. Her father had no idea how serious her musical ambitions were, and he certainly didn't know that she played at bars as often as she did. He'd be furious if he ever found out (or if Tandy ever told him since Rayna knew she'd probably guessed what she was doing by now), and it would just be a disaster. And the odds of him signing his permission for her to record an album were probably negative fifty.
But, Rayna would cross that bridge when she got there. It wasn't even guaranteed to happen, after all, so there wasn't any need to get too worked up about it.
"You're on the right track doing what you're doing," Watty continued, "so let's keep it that way. Does that sound fair, honey?"
"Yeah," Rayna finally sighed, clearing her head and heading over to the small stage. She might not have convinced Watty yet, but she would. Playing some of Deacon's music would make a big splash to any big deal label head checking her out (assuming it was as good as she thought), so it actually would be a good move on her part.
If there was anything Rayna had inherited from her father it was the ability to get exactly what she wanted, so she wasn't worried. In time, it would happen, and it would be easy.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Christmas Break was finally upon Nashville, so Rayna took it as the perfect opportunity to see Deacon as much as she possibly could. He worked at the coffee shop every Tuesday through Friday from nine am to five pm (apparently he wasn't in school, then, though he had never mentioned graduating), so Rayna arrived toward the end of his shift, taking care to be wearing her best clothes with her best arrangement of makeup. She had a lot of algebra homework over break that she had to complete to avoid failing the course, so she'd do that, too, while she waited for him.
Without meaning to, they created a sort of pattern. She'd come in at 4 or so and go up to the counter to order her coffee. He'd wink at her and give her whatever he felt like making, and after she'd sit down and spend an hour on her homework, he'd finish his shift and come over to her, sitting down on her side of the booth.
Deacon's body so close to hers made Rayna feel things. As he played the guitar, sometimes his arm brushed her lightly, and every time that happened, she felt jolts of feeling rush over her. She sometimes felt like she was suffocating with the intensity of it all, and when he sang... Rayna took it as an extreme accomplishment whenever she was able to open her mouth and sing along because it truly took her breath away the way he could play that guitar and sing a perfectly matching melody.
"Hey, let's get out of here," he said that first Friday of break. It was 6:30 and they'd been messing around with a new song since he had gotten off work, and he was gazing at her softly. "I'll take you out for a drink. What d'ya say?"
Didn't he remember how old she was? Rayna didn't feel like reminding him, but just because he had the fake ID and was able to do what he wanted didn't mean that she could. She felt lame, though, so she bit her lip, not exactly sure how to proceed.
"Deacon, I don't know because I'm not –"
"That wouldn't be an issue, Rayna," he assured her. "I can get you a drink and no one will say anythin'. It's just if you want to. So do you?"
Did she? Rayna had only ever had a little bit of wine at one of her father's cocktail parties this past summer, and it hadn't been very appealing (it was red and it tasted dry, even though it apparently was supposed to be like that.) She was therefore curious as to what other alcoholic drinks tasted like, but was that the smartest thing to do? Rayna had never broken the rules like that before, but the idea of it was enticing.
"Are you sure that I won't... get in trouble?" She felt like a little kid for saying that, but Deacon merely laughed. He shook his head and then tapped her cheek lightly with his hand. It was a soft, tender touch, and Rayna reddened again.
"Naw," he said, jumping up and putting his hand out. She took it and he helped her up, his hand still connected to hers as she stood up next to him, their bodies only inches apart. "It'll be fine, and it'll be fun. Let's go."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Rayna didn't like beer, but she really liked mixed drinks. Deacon had ordered her a Bahama Mama and then something called a Spiderman, and as she sipped the Spiderman dry, she realized now that she was drunk. Actually drunk.
"I'm drunk," she suddenly blurted out, and then she laughed. Deacon laughed, too. He was on his third beer, but he didn't seem drunk. His eyes were still clear and his reflexes quick. Rayna had knocked some things down throughout the duration of their conversations and he had scooped them all up quickly and effectively.
"Just from two drinks?" he asked her. "Damn it, darlin'! You're a light-weight."
Rayna loved it when he called her darlin'. He called her quite a few things, now that she thought about it, but darlin' felt the most special. Maybe it was because of his Mississippi accent or maybe it was because nobody had ever called Rayna that before, but it felt good, and it made Rayna feel appreciated.
"I really like it when you call me darlin'." Rayna's filter was completely obliterated, but that was fine by her. She didn't understand why she had been trying to hide her feelings for Deacon. They'd gotten so close over the past couple months, and he was just so sexy. She was attracted to his looks, attracted to his voice, and simply attracted to his being. They'd been playing this strange sort of tip-toe game for so long now, and Rayna finally wanted to be straight up about it all.
"You do?" he asked, laughing lighting while looking at her. His eyes seemed worried, though, as they searched hers. They were so blue. Gosh, Rayna felt herself growing lost in those beautiful blue eyes.
"Yep," said Rayna, "and I also really like you." His eyes widened at that remark, and even though Rayna was smiling at him, he was frowning. Why was he frowning?
"You're drunk," he said slowly, still watching her. "You don't know what you're saying."
"But I do know what I'm saying!" How could he say that? Rayna wasn't stupid. She saw the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her – the way he sang to her. Their connection was too strong and too far gone to just dismissively ignore, so what was he doing? And how could he possibly know what she was feeling?
"I think I should get you home now."
Home. Deacon wanted to take her back to her home, back home to Belle Meade. Even in her current state, Rayna still remembered that she didn't want Deacon to see her house and that she certainly didn't want him to see her father, so she had to figure out what to do. He couldn't take her home! What was she supposed to do?
"I can get there myself, Deacon," she said, standing up and swaying slightly. The room was starting to spin, and it surprised her. She really hadn't had that much to drink, but there she was, starting to stumble on her feet.
"Oh no you don't!" Deacon jumped up and steadied her, one hand wrapped around her waist and one gripping her hand. He was standing so close to her that she could smell his cologne, and she could feel his warm breath against her face.
"Everything's spinnin', Deacon," she said softly, squeezing his hand and feeling her body slouch and lean toward him.
"I know it is." He guided her back down to the booth, and he climbed in next to her, pulling her hair back as she set her head down on the table.
It was embarrassing, really, to be this drunk. It was probably because Rayna had never really drank before. What had she expected? The truth was that she wasn't thinking about anything except for spending more time with Deacon. That had been the plan, and now that she clearly was in no state to continue their outing together, she had to figure out how to get out of it. But all she could do was press her cheek against the cold surface of the table, finding some temporary relief.
"It's alright, Rayna." Dimly, Rayna felt a hand gently stroke her back. It felt good and comforting, and without meaning to, she closed her eyes, aware of that hand still stroking her back and a soft voice murmuring words in her ear, almost like a rhythm to a song.
After a while, though, the butterflies in Rayna's stomach brought her out of her daze, and she sat up abruptly. Deacon leaned away a little bit, surprise nestled on his face, but Rayna moved closer and closed the gap between them.
"I know you just think I'm drunk and that I'm just babbling like an idiot, but I'm not." His eyes met hers, and Rayna reached forward to put a hand on the side of his face. Her fingers brushed over the stubble of his recently-shaved beard, and she felt that thing rush over her, like it always did. "I really do like you, both when I'm drunk and when I'm sober."
"Yeah?" Deacon let out a nervous laugh, but before he could say anything else, Rayna leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, moving her free hand to weave into the thick mane of his hair.