What she's about to do doesn't fully hit her until she's 36,000 feet in the air, en route to Denver to go tell her soon-to-be-ex-fiancé that she can't marry him anymore.

When she'd asked Bucky to book her a flight, she'd considered explaining why. Then she'd reckoned it wouldn't be fair to tell anyone but Luke first, even though it would have given Bucky some time to prepare for the tsunami that is bound to hit them when they will announce to the press that the wedding is canceled.

But they'll deal with all that later.

For now, all she needs to focus on is how she's going to break out the news to Luke.

Luke.

Luke who doesn't deserve what's coming.

Luke who, she knows, has been in love with her for a lot longer than she has been in love with him. They'd been friends for a few years before they'd started dating last January. It hadn't been love at first sight, but it was okay because she'd never been one to believe in love at first sight.

Well, that was until a week ago. She may now have to reconsider her stance on that.

Her plan for tonight is to meet Luke in his hotel room after the show. She has a room booked in another hotel, and she's going to try to stay under the radar until then. The worst that could happen would be for the press to find out she's in town.

She squirms in her seat and sighs. She's not sure what's wrong with this plane, but she hasn't been able to find a comfortable position since they took off.

She glances at her watch. Another two hours.

She pulls the window shade down and rests her head back against the seat. She may as well try to sleep and stop overthinking this.

—

The taxi driver keeps talking the whole ride back to her hotel.

He tells her all about the last time he saw her in concert and how much he loves her music and how much his wife loves her music and how they used Grow Old with Me for their wedding's first dance. At some point, he even breaks into one of her songs.

And all the while, she's grateful for it. It's the only thing that keeps her from bursting into tears right here on the backseat of his taxi.

She can't say she'd expected her conversation with Luke to go smoothly, but in the end, it had gone wrong in all the possible ways it could have gone wrong. She'd blindsided him, and he hadn't understood. She'd considered for a second not telling him about Deacon, but then she'd decided at least she owed him the truth.

She knows she's hurt him real bad.

She doesn't have any regret for what happened, but she does for how it happened.

—

When she gets back to her hotel room, she feels drained. It's not only her conversation with Luke; her week, which has been quite the emotional rollercoaster, is finally catching up with her.

She doesn't bother to kick her boots off or remove her jacket before she falls onto the bed.

She closes her eyes.

She wishes she could call Deacon, but it's past two in Nashville already and she isn't going to wake him up in the middle of the night.

Just as she's thinking about Deacon, her phone rings. She reaches for it in her jacket pocket and checks the name on the screen. Bucky. It's not his habit to call her at this hour.

"Buck?"

"Hey, Ray. How are you doing?"

"Not great." Her voice breaks. "I just called off the wedding."

"Yeah, I heard."

"What?" She sits back up on the bed. "How did you hear? I just did it."

"Jimmy called me."

She can't believe Luke has told his manager already. And that his manager has called her manager already. At freakin' two in the morning.

"What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter. You're what's important right now. What can I do to help?"

She sighs. "Nothing, really. We're going to have to decide how to announce it, but I guess if Jimmy called you already, they may beat us to it."

"Well, judging from Jimmy's tone, I think we may need to brace for the worst. I don't think Luke's gonna go quietly into the night."

She doesn't even know how to respond to that.

"It's gonna be okay, Ray," Buck assures her. "We're gonna get through this, all right?"

—

"I hope nobody has any plans to go anywhere, because we are now officially surrounded," Tandy says, walking back from the window to go sit on a kitchen stool.

"Good Lord," Rayna huffs.

She'd came back from Denver a little before noon to find that her living room had been turned into a war room. Buck and her publicist were already there, in the midst of devising a grand plan to frame the conversation and take control of the story. Unfortunately, Luke's team had outpaced them not long after by holding a press conference, and they'd had to switch to damage-control mode.

She's quite sure her manager hasn't let go of his phone for more than five minutes ever since.

He ends what must be his umpteenth call before he turns to her and Tandy with a grim face. "I've got some news you won't like," he says, facing Rayna.

"Spill it, Buck."

"There's a rumor out there that is starting to gain some traction. It's about... Deacon."

Rayna is livid. "Deacon? How do they even know about Deacon?"

"People heard you sing at the Bluebird with him, and three days later, the wedding is canceled. It's enough to launch a rumor. I think you should call Deacon, warn him that reporters may try to contact him."

She grabs her phone and leaves the room. When she comes back, Tandy and Buck are looking at her, expectantly.

"They've found his address already," she announces, defeated.

—

By 5pm, she has held a press conference in response to Luke's.

By 6pm, she's back home.

Alone.

Tandy and Bucky had offered to keep her company, but she'd declined.

She's in a daze. She's frustrated. She's exhausted.

When the bell rings, not even ten minutes after she has gotten home, her first thought is that one of the reporters has somehow managed to bypass the gate and reached the house. She heads to the door, ready to punch someone if it comes to it.

The person she finds on the other side door is the last person she'd expected to see. She grabs his arm and hurries him inside.

"What are you doing here, you crazy person?"

"I thought, what the hell, they already know about me, and I... missed you."

She can see Deacon has a moment of panic as if he's second-guessing himself, wondering whether maybe it's been presumptuous of him to come here, so she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him to reassure him it's okay. It's more than okay. If she could have, she would have driven over to his place already.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispers.

"How are you doing?" he asks then, the concern evident in his voice. With his hands still wrapped around her hips and his forehead resting against hers, she would lie if she said that, right at this moment, she is anything other than okay.

"I'm fine. How are you? With... everything going on."

"I'm okay. My friend Adria went to pick up Scar at school, and Scar is going to spend the night at her place. I packed a bag for her that I dropped at Adria's on my way over here."

"I'm so sorry about all this, Deacon," she apologizes as they let go of each other and head to the living room.

"It's not your fault. One of the assholes who have set up camp on my front lawn tried to follow me in his car when I left the house. I lost him, but I couldn't believe he even tried. Let me tell you, I got a little glimpse of what it's like to be you, and I don't like it." There's a pause. "Well, that came out wrong..."

She chuckles. "No, I got it. And that's the part of being me I don't like either, but it's a recent development. It's not the norm."

On their way to the living room, she stops by the kitchen. "Would you like a beer?" she asks while opening the fridge. "I think I need one." She does.

"Uh, no, thanks." She can see he wants to add something but hesitates. "I don't... drink."

"Oh, okay." She's reminded there's so much she still needs to learn about him. Things between them have been so instinctive from the start, it's easy to forget.

"I stopped drinking the day my sister died," he explains. "I'd been on a bit of a... wild path before that. It was a wake-up call. If I was going to look after Scarlett, I needed to stop."

He seems to hold his breath, waiting for her to respond.

"I've got sweet tea, lemonade, root beer, orange juice... just name it," she offers, smiling, and he looks all too relieved she didn't make a big deal out of it.

"Sweet tea will do just fine."

They settle on her couch then, with him turned toward her, his arm lying on the backrest. Her head rests against the crook of his elbow.

He glances around. "Your house looks... different."

"Less... Christmassy?" she asks, and they both laugh at that.

"Yeah, that must be it." She's all too aware of his finger curling around one strand of her hair and then letting it loose. "What are you going to do?" he asks.

She sighs. "I'm gonna... wait for these damn reporters to come up with something else they wanna talk about so I can walk out my front door again. I'm gonna hole up and write until this whole thing passes over."

If he'd shown any hesitation when he'd arrived earlier, it's gone now, because he looks straight at her when he suggests, "Want me to wait with you?"

—

They spend a good part of the evening in the music room.

He takes a closer look at all the memorabilia this time, starting with her CMA and Grammy trophies on the shelf. She tells him that what she's the most proud of are the plaques on the wall because people listening to her music will always be more important to her than any award.

He asks about the guitar — the only one in the room — which hangs on the wall next to the plaques. She explains it belonged to her mom who gave it to her. She jokes that she won't ever so much as try to bring that guitar on stage because if people heard her play, it would kill her career on the spot.

"Can I?" he asks, pointing a finger at the guitar, and she nods.

He sits down on the couch and starts to toy with the strings. He tunes them by ear before he tries a few chords, looking satisfied. She finds it weird to hear someone play that guitar after it's been hanging on the wall for so long.

"You told me your mom used to sing, right?" he asks.

"Yeah. She was friends with Watty, I know they were writing together and he arranged gigs for her from time to time, but my dad never let her made an actual career out of it."

"You inherited her voice?"

"But none of her guitar skills, unfortunately," she sighs, sitting down next to him.

"This is something that can still be fixed."

"I fear you're unreasonably optimistic here."

He smiles, that smile that does things to her that would be rated R in most countries. "Well, I'm inclined to believe in miracles lately."

—

He calls Adria a little before nine to check on Scarlett. While listening to him talk on the phone, Rayna realizes she misses the time when she could have friends like this. She knows a whole lot of people, but because of what her life has become, everybody she meets these days usually wants something from her.

They move back to the living room after that, and he investigates her vinyl collection while she's on the phone, ordering food.

"Hoping to add one by Deacon Claybourne to this soon," she says once she has hung up the phone and she has joined him in front of the shelf.

"Actually... I do have one album out. A little label had taken interest in me when I'd first moved here. It's called Been and Gone which I guess is... appropriate."

"And you're only telling me this now?"

"It's probably available in the antique stores here and there," he jokes.

She vows to go on a hunt to find a copy of Deacon's album as soon as she'll be able to walk out of her house without the press hounding her.

—

It's well past midnight when he checks the clock. "I should probably head back home," he remarks without much conviction.

They're sprawled out on her couch, talking about anything and everything. He'd wondered aloud earlier if he should call the bar Vince is working at to warn him there might still be reporters camping on their front lawn. He'd decided againt it, though, shaking his head in amusement and acknowledging he trusted Vince to find a creative way to deal with them.

She doesn't want Deacon to leave.

She's sure it's a scientific fact, time passes faster when she's with him. It feels like he's just gotten here.

"You could... stay here," she suggests. "I mean, I've got a million guest rooms, take your pick," she offers, smiling.

"You wouldn't mind?" he asks.

She would probably be ready to beg, this is how much she wouldn't mind. "Not at all."

She doesn't have to tell Deacon twice. "Alright then," he agrees.

—

She was exhausted earlier this evening, and now she can't sleep. Not with Deacon lying in a bed a few rooms away.

There isn't much holding her from getting out of bed and walking down the corridor to go knock on his door. It wouldn't even be the craziest thing she has done this past week.

She groans. She grabs the pillow under her head and puts it on her face. What is wrong with her? She can't think straight lately.

She kicks off the covers. She needs to go pour herself a drink to calm her nerves, there's no point in tossing and turning in her bed all night.

When she gets out of her room, she finds Deacon standing on the doorstep of his own room. They spot each other and they burst out laughing at the same time.

"Can't sleep?" she asks.

He shakes his head, still smiling.

And then, like it has been the case every time they've been together since they met, they are pulled toward each other.

They meet halfway the corridor. This time, she has no idea who kisses who first, but what she's sure of is that he wants it as bad as she does. Before she can process exactly what's happening, she's got her legs wrapped around his waist and he's carrying her back to his room.

They fall back onto his bed, and in the haze of it all, she vaguely registers he's trying to speak.

"We don't have... we can wai—" he starts, but his hand slides under her shirt, his fingers brushing against her breast, and he forgets what he was about to say.

There's no stopping this, like there was no stopping anything that has happened between them until now.

—

TBC