Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.

A/N: Here is the next chapter! I'm so sad to hear about the show's fate, but it will live on forever in our hearts and here on the fanfic site.

Nashville's Sweetheart

8

"Hey."

"Hey." It was five minutes to ten, and it was the usual scene – Deacon was sitting at the back table and Rayna was standing nearby, watching him. His blue eyes were unfocused as they stared at some point above her head, and even in the dim lighting, Rayna could see that he hadn't shaved in a few days. He had been clean-shaved on Friday, but today, he looked simply awful.

"How're ya doin'?" Deacon didn't answer her but merely took a sip of his beer. He had a couple of empty bottles already set to the side on his table, and Rayna could smell the distinct odor of whiskey.

"Are you drunk?" It was a straightforward question, to be sure, but it was one that needed to be asked. Deacon didn't answer her, and as Watty came over to tap her shoulder, gesturing toward the stage, Rayna felt a shot of pure terror course through her body.

There was only one reason for his behavior, and it had to be that she had done something stupid on Friday. She couldn't remember a thing, but she must have went too far, said something she didn't mean, accidentally let it slip about Belle Meade; she must have done something for him to be treating her like this.

"You're up, Rayna, so look sharp." Watty gestured toward a group of men sitting at one of the front table, notepads sitting neatly in front of them. "Those were the people I was tellin' you about. This is important, so stay focused, alright? I believe in you. Now get on up there."

Tearing her gaze away from Deacon, Rayna nodded and headed toward the stage, feeling a myriad of emotions consume her. This was important, God was it important, but so was Deacon. He was suffering, and it looked like he needed someone to talk to him, needed someone to help him – needed her.

And she would, after her set. But for now, she had to focus; for now, she had to be strong.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Deacon? Deacon!" As she stepped off the stage, Rayna saw Deacon throw some money on his table and then head toward the door. Watty was standing next to her and saying something about meeting somebody, his face absolutely beaming, but Rayna ignored him. Her eyes trained on the back of Deacon's head, she broke into a run and then followed him out the door.

"Deacon!"

"What, Rayna?" He whipped around to face her right as she approached him. She had to skid to a halt since she was already so close. Their faces were merely inches apart, and again, Rayna took in the entirety of his unshaved face and smelled the strong scent of whiskey.

"What's the matter with you, Deacon?"

"Nothin'." He grunted and then turned around to leave, but Rayna put her hand out and stopped him. She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, and as he stopped and then swiveled his head back to look at her again, she felt it, that current of electricity surging between them. It felt different this time, though, since she was scared at how drunk he was and how cold he was being, but it was still there, and she still wanted to be with him. Why did she still want to be with him so badly?

"Listen," she continued, releasing his arm. He caught it as she let go and grasped it tightly. Surprised, Rayna looked into his eyes to see him staring at her – staring through her – and she felt those damn butterflies run free through her stomach. "I don't know what I said on Friday or what even happened, but I want you to know I –"

"No, Rayna. You listen." He squeezed her hand slightly and then let go, and Rayna felt herself sway a little bit. "I shouldn't have gotten you drunk on Friday. I'm not that kinda guy, but I... I can't always think clearly when I've been drinkin', too."

"What?" Was he apologizing? He looked so pained. He moved in a little closer, and it was too much. His breath, his eyes, his face, his lips... "Deacon, I don't know what you're –"

"I'm sorry, Ray." That was the first time he'd ever called her that, and he said it so softly, almost like a whisper. His blue eyes continued to shine sadly at her, and Rayna felt that connection almost overwhelm her.

"It's okay, Deacon." She didn't know what to do, really. What was even happening? He was taking the blame for had happened (whatever had even happened), and he was so vulnerable and so sincere.

"No, it's not. I think I, that I have a problem or somethin', and I don't want to drag you into it."

"But you didn't!" He really hadn't. Rayna had wanted those drinks, so she took them willingly, even when her better judgment told her to stop.

"I should've stopped you, though. I should've been responsible."

It was endearing, really, how sweet he was being. To him everything was falling apart, but to Rayna, she almost felt like things were just beginning. If he cared this much about "being responsible" for her, than he must truly, sincerely care about her. Without even knowing what she was doing, Rayna moved closer and took his hand again, weaving their arms together.

"I had a really good time with you."

"You did?" Deacon's breathing was a bit hitched since their faces were merely inches apart now, blue eyes staring into blue. He didn't pull his arm away.

"Yeah." Another few seconds passed, and Deacon leaned in closer, Rayna leaned in closer, their lips were just about to meet –

"Rayna?" Watty came up from around the corner, and the two broke apart instantly. Watty's eyes widened and Deacon cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Rayna could tell by the way Watty's fists curled and his nostrils flared that he had seen enough.

"Rayna, come inside with me, please."

"Watty, we –"

"Now, Rayna."

Watty never used that kind of tone with Rayna. She'd honestly never heard it directed toward her in all the time that she'd known him. She was always his sweet little songbird, his bright-eyed superstar – his perfect little angel. Rayna realized that usually it was a father who thought of his daughter this way, but in her life, it was Watty. And in that moment, she felt as if she had let him down.

"I – I'll see you later."

"'Kay." Deacon's eyes were down as he wandered off to his truck, and alarm suddenly flashed through Rayna when she remembered just how drunk he was.

"Wait!" Both Watty and Deacon stopped at Rayna's exclaim, and she kept looking between the two of them, feeling torn. She couldn't let Deacon drive in his condition, but she didn't want to make Watty angry. The truth was that it would be best to have Watty drive him home, but how would he react to that? Would Deacon even allow that? But it was the right thing to do!

"Deacon can't drive," Rayna finally said, swallowing hard. "Uncle Watty, we need to drive him home."

"I'm fine, Rayna. I can –"

"You're not, Deacon. You're really not. It's not safe."

"Rayna, c'mon. I'm perfectly –"

"She's right." Both Rayna and Deacon stopped as Watty spoke up and came up to them, his face hard. He had a few wrinkles on his face, but at the moment, they looked more pronounced than ever. "You're in no state to drive, son. Rayna and I have some important business to attend to, but afterwards, I'm taking you home. Get back inside and stay out of sight."