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Deacon
She was standing in the kitchen, in a long sleeve gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, sipping on a cup of coffee. For a second, he thought about blowing off the cowrite appointment he'd reluctantly agreed to. Her eyes still had a sleepy look and her hair was messy in a very sexy way. He breathed in, then crossed the floor and took her face in his hands as he leaned in for a long kiss. When he drew back, she laughed softly, then looked at him curiously. "Why are you leaving again?" she asked, an amused tone to her voice.
He shook his head. "I don't really remember anymore," he said with a tiny smile.
She smiled. "Well, I'm not one to stand in the way of the creative process, but I'm sure gonna miss you while you're gone. I hope you write a couple number 1's today."
He groaned. "We'll see. I'd sure rather be here with you."
"Then hurry home," she whispered. She kissed him softly. He held her lips though and gave her a more thorough kiss before letting her go and stepping back.
"Don't worry, I will," he said. Reluctantly he walked towards the living room, stopping first to turn to get a last look at her. She had walked to the kitchen door and stood leaning against the door jamb, one leg crossed casually over the other and her arms crossed over her waist. She smiled and his heart beat a little faster. He couldn't help himself, he ran back to her and kissed her again as her arms encircled him. "I'm an idiot for leaving you, even for a minute," he growled.
"I'll be here when you get back." She pushed against his chest gently. "Go. Write your songs. Then come back to me and we'll write some more."
God, I love this woman. He sighed. "Love you."
"I love you too. Now go." She laughed.
He walked to the door, slid his bag over his shoulder and picked up his guitar. He looked at her one last time before he left.
He was sitting alone contemplating the glass of whiskey sitting in front of him. He breathed in deeply, looking at the caramel colored liquid that was taunting him, tempting him.
"Hey, man, you gonna drink that?" He looked up and focused on the bartender who was standing in front of him. The place wasn't busy. In fact, it was almost empty. So, it was a question of curiosity more than anything.
"Yeah," he said. "Maybe."
The bartender shrugged. "Okay. Just let me know if you need another." Then he walked off.
He looked back at the glass. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there. He didn't actually think he would drink the whiskey, but it was oddly comforting to see it sitting there. It was tempting him, and he was tempting himself but so far he was winning. He turned towards the front of the bar and could see it was getting dark outside. He looked for a clock and when he found one, he saw it was after 5. It was a lot later than he'd thought. He reached for his wallet, pulled out a $20, and left it next to the untouched drink. Then he got up and walked out.
He'd decided to accept the writing appointment with the guys he'd been writing with the day Vince died, even though he had a little apprehension. Not about the guys particularly, as they were regulars he'd worked with over the years, but it brought back memories of that day and how it had ended. He hadn't written with them again between then and the time he'd left Nashville for home, he thought for good. He hadn't counted on Rayna, of course, but he also didn't think he would have returned if not for her. He didn't know how this would feel, but if Rayna was going outside her comfort zone to try to grab the gold ring, he guessed he could too.
The day had started off well enough. It hadn't taken long for them to feel comfortable together again. They hadn't poked too much around his reasons for staying away so long. He hadn't really brought any song ideas with him, but he quickly found a rhythm in providing suggestions as the group began to craft something new. This was the group he'd worked with most often during his times in Nashville, even though most of his cowritten number 1's had been with another group he'd worked with frequently. Since leaving Nashville the last time, he'd mostly written on his own – or with Rayna – but this felt familiar.
Late morning turned into afternoon, with pizza and beer – root beer for him – keeping them going. They kept writing, tossing out ideas, writing and rewriting. They settled on a chorus first, then struggled with the verses. He had an idea for a bridge, but that also depended on the verses, so they kept playing around with it. Another pizza was ordered, and he volunteered to go pick it up so he could stretch his legs and hopefully clear his head.
He was walking back to his truck with the pizza when he saw that someone was standing next to it. As he got closer, he felt a little queasy. It was a petite woman with long thick dark brown hair and a dark complexion. He remembered she had soft brown eyes, but this woman's eyes weren't soft. They were hard as glass, filled with pain and hurt. He hadn't seen Carmen Gonzalez since Vince had died. Carmen wasn't Vince's girlfriend – at least Vince always said so – but they were often together, and she was, as he described her, a friend with benefits. A very close friend with benefits. One of the reasons he'd blamed himself when Vince died was because Carmen blamed him.
He cleared his throat as he approached the truck. "Carmen," he said, acknowledging her, wondering how she knew he was here and why she'd tracked him down.
"Deacon Claybourne," she said. "It's been a long time since you've been around."
"Yeah, I guess," he said, not moving. He frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were in town. From Frankie." Ah, good old Frankie. "I stopped by the writing session just in time to see you drive off. They told me you were here."
So she had come intentionally. "Okay," he said. He wondered what her intentions were. "Well, I need to get back while this is still hot." He took a step towards his truck and she moved to lean against it. "What do you want, Carmen?"
"I don't get how you can come back here after all this time and just go back to what you were doing. Vince died because you didn't tell him not to drive."
He scoffed. "It ain't on me, Carmen. I did tell him not to drive, he just did anyway." He hated sounding callous like that – Vince was his friend – but he knew there was nothing good that would happen from going down this road again.
"Then why did you leave town? That seems like something someone who felt guilty would do."
He forced himself to not respond in anger. Finally he said, "That ain't true, Carmen. I wasn't living here full time anyway."
She gave him a hard look. "I was pregnant when Vince died," she said, and he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. "And I lost the baby. So you have that to carry with you as well." She pushed off the truck. "My whole life was torn apart, Deacon, because you let Vince drive drunk." He hadn't expected that. "I hope you can live with that." Then she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, his eyes following her as she got into the car next to his truck and then drove away. The next thing he remembered was sitting at the bar with a drink in front of him.
Rayna
It was getting dark and she still hadn't heard from Deacon. He hadn't given her a definite time he'd be home, but he'd been gone since mid-morning and when she tried calling him the call went to voice mail. She knew his habit was to either turn off his phone or turn the sound off while he was writing. Interruptions could interfere with the creative process. But this didn't feel right somehow, although she couldn't have said why. Just her intuition that something was amiss. She kept pacing the condo and periodically peering out the window, although she couldn't see the parking lot from her vantage point. Finally she heard the sound of footsteps and then the key in the lock. She raced to the door just as it opened. When she saw his face and his posture, she stopped.
"Deacon," she said. "I've been worried about you." When he stared into her eyes, she was taken aback by the sorrow and pain she saw there, something she wasn't expecting to see. She felt a lump in her stomach. "What happened?" He didn't say anything, just closed the door behind him and walked into her arms, holding her tight. He was trembling and that scared her. "Deacon?" she murmured against his shoulder. She lifted her head and looked up at him. "What's wrong? You're scaring me a little." She brushed her hand over his cheek. "Actually a lot." He looked at her and he looked almost… haunted. She stepped back and took his hand, leading him to the couch. She sat next to him, her arms around him as he rested his head against her shoulder. "Tell me what happened," she murmured.
He didn't say anything and so she just held him. Then he started to shake and gasped for breath. He tried to sit up, pressing his fist to his chest, his breath labored. "Deacon," she said, feeling a little frantic. "Deacon, what's going on?" He looked at her for a second and she saw fear in his eyes as he continued to struggle to breathe. She suddenly realized it was a panic attack, something he'd told her he'd experienced since his friend Vince's death. She wondered if this had something to do with Vince and being back in Nashville. She started to rock him, holding him close. "Breathe, babe," she whispered. "Come on, just try to breathe in slowly." He was still struggling. "Breathe with me," she pleaded, trying to help him calm down. After a few minutes he finally seemed to be able to breathe more easily and she closed her eyes, feeling more relieved. She continued to hold him, rocking gently back and forth, until his body finally seemed to relax. She kissed his cheek. "It's okay, sweetie," she said. She had no idea if she was doing the right thing, but he seemed to be calmer, so she hoped so.
He finally breathed in deeply, then sighed. He turned his head to look at her. "I'm sorry I worried you," he said.
She brushed the hair off his brow with her fingers. "What happened?" she asked again.
He sighed again. "Everything was fine til I went to get pizza," he said. "Me and the guys worked on some stuff and then we decided to get food and I went to pick up pizza. When I came out Carmen was there."
She frowned. "Who's Carmen?"
"She and Vince, they were sort of a thing. I mean, Vince never really had like one girl, but Carmen was always around, and they were pretty… tight, I guess." He sighed again. "She blamed me for Vince driving that night. Nothing anybody said changed her mind on that."
"And because you blamed yourself, you took it on," she said, not really a question.
"Yeah. I guess."
"You can't do that, Deacon," she said. She frowned. "How did she know where you were?"
He shrugged. "Turned out Frankie told her I was back and she just went by to where we were writing and got lucky."
She was feeling confused. "And who's Frankie?"
"He was kind of on the fringes. Friend of Vince's and some of the other guys and he used to hang out sometimes at the songwriting sessions. He was trying to launch a career and tried to get us to write with him." He cleared his throat. "He was a pretty good performer, but he was also a heavy drinker and that got in his way. He and I weren't that good of friends and we butted heads a few times. I ran into him the other day and I'm guessing he told Carmen I was in town. So it was her chance to remind me she still blamed me for what happened to Vince."
"She's still not past all that? She still holds a grudge? For something that wasn't your fault." She didn't want him to continue to beat himself up about this.
"Well, there's more." She waited, watching as he swallowed hard. "She said she was pregnant. And lost the baby. So she blames that on me too."
She felt a little sick to her stomach and had to take a deep breath. "That's not fair," she said, swallowing over a lump in her throat. "What did you do?"
The devastated look was back in his eyes. "She walked away. Next thing I know I was sitting in a bar with a glass of whiskey in front of me."
She widened her eyes. He didn't smell of alcohol and didn't look drunk, but she hadn't had a lot of experience with that so wasn't sure how it might present. "Did you… drink it?" she asked hesitantly. He shook his head. She closed her eyes for a second, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. "I wanted to though."
"Deacon, if she was pregnant and lost the baby, that's not on you. You have to believe that." She sighed. "What do you want to do?"
"I think I need to go to a meeting. This is the closest I been to drinking since I got back home."
"Now?"
He nodded. "I think I should." He clasped his hands in front of him and looked away. "I know a place I could go."
It made her nervous. If he left, what would happen? It was all still so fresh for him. "You sure you don't want to wait and go tomorrow?" she asked.
"I think I should do it now." He turned to look at her. "I promise I'll be right back. But it can help to be with people who remind you why you're doing this." She didn't understand any of this. She'd never been around anyone who had a drinking problem, never known anyone who would have described what this was like. It made sense what he said – go handle it right away. But would he come back? He reached for her hands. "I'll come right back after. I promise." It was as though he could read her mind.
She tried to smile. "Um, okay."
He put his hands on each side of her face and looked at her intently. "I didn't drink nothing, Rayna. You don't gotta worry."
She breathed in. "But I do. It scares me."
He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. "I know." He looked at her intently. "You wanna go with me?"
"Can I?"
"Well, not to the meeting, but you can wait in the truck."
She thought about that for a moment. Would he think she didn't trust him? That she needed to keep tabs on him? Would he think she didn't believe him? She reached for his hand. "I don't have to," she said. "I'm not afraid you won't go. I just don't want this to tear you apart."
There was a gratefulness in his eyes as he leaned towards her and kissed her. "I'll be back soon as it's over," he said, and she nodded. He got up and she walked him to the door. When the door closed, she leaned against it and clasped her hands just under her chin, closing her eyes and hoping he could feel some peace.
Deacon
He parked and got out of his truck, hurrying to the back entrance of the church where the AA meeting was located. It was the meeting he'd gone to before he'd left Nashville. He was just a few minutes late and he slid into the meeting room and took a seat in the back of the room. He sat listening to the meeting topic which happened to be about the temptations all around. As he looked around the room he only saw a couple of people he remembered from when he had last been at a meeting. When the discussion wrapped up around the topic, several of the participants shared their stories.
When the last person finished, he raised his hand. Normally those who shared were pre-selected, but he also knew no one had ever been denied the opportunity to share if they needed to. The leader was someone he knew, and he nodded towards him. "Deacon. Good to see you again," he said.
He got up and walked to the front, then turned to face the group. "My name is Deacon and I'm an alcoholic," he said. There were murmurs of greeting and then the group quieted down. "I appreciate being able to share tonight. I left Nashville more'n a year ago. Went back home and been building a good life ever since. I don't go to meetings as much anymore, but I also haven't been really tempted. I keep busy and that's helped. Also I left Nashville because what was driving me to drink was here and I thought I'd left most of that behind. But I came back a few weeks ago, not to stay but to help someone out, and all the things that made me leave came back.
"I write songs and have written pretty regularly with several other writers. Got caught up with some guys who were drinkers and I started drinking more. I got my own past that alcohol helped me hide and that just got me drinking even more. One night a good friend decided to drive himself home. He was too drunk to drive, and I should've stopped him. But I was too drunk to go after him, so he went anyway, and he ended up crashing. And he died." He swallowed over the lump in his throat. "I should've stopped him. I knew he shouldn't've driven that night. Maybe if I hadn't been so drunk, I would've made more of an effort." He could hear the shakiness in his voice and stopped, clearing his throat before he went on. "But I didn't, and I been carrying that with me all this time. Coming back here brought up all that stuff and the hurt it caused and I ended up sitting in a bar just a few hours ago with a glass of whiskey in front of me.
"I don't know how long I sat there but I started to think about the people who need me and those people need me to stay the course. Maybe I won't ever stop regretting what happened that night but me drinking ain't gonna go back and change it. I got a lot more to lose these days. It ain't worth it. I also know I need this" – he gestured around the meeting room – "more than I thought. It's good to know I can always come back." He breathed in and then nodded sharply. "Thank you."
"Thank you for sharing, Deacon," the leader said as he walked back to his seat amid the attentive clapping of the group.
When he got back to Rayna's place, she met him at the door, taking him in her arms and holding him close. He felt such a release, not realizing how much tension he was carrying. He put his arms around her and kissed her forehead.
"Do you feel better?" she asked.
He nodded. "I do. I'm glad I went. I think maybe I need to do that more often. Just to stay focused."
She rubbed his back. "You hungry?"
He couldn't remember the last time he ate. He wasn't sure what happened to the pizza he'd picked up when he'd run into Carmen, and he knew he hadn't eaten anything at the bar and was suddenly famished. "Yeah, I am actually."
She stepped back and took his hand. "I'll fix something for you," she said, gently leading him to the kitchen. He sat at the kitchen table while she busied herself making him a sandwich and heating something on the stove. When she was done, she brought over a turkey sandwich and a bowl of soup and put them in front of him, along with a spoon.
He picked up the spoon, then looked at her. "You not eating?" he asked.
"I already ate," she said. "It's late and I wasn't sure when you'd be back."
He glanced at the clock and saw that it was after 8. "Sorry I was gone so long."
She shook her head. "It's okay." She nodded toward the food. "Eat."
He laid awake for a long time after they had gone to bed. Rayna had fallen asleep pretty quickly and he turned onto his side facing her, watching her sleep. She'd changed him in the few short months since she'd appeared in his life and all for the better. He'd never thought he could love someone as much as he loved her. She was the center of everything for him. He wanted so much for her to live her dream and he'd been a little disappointed thus far that nothing had really happened on that front yet. Her sets at places around town had been brilliant, in his opinion, and the audiences had really seemed to connect with her music. So far though no one in the industry had stepped up to say they saw promise in her. He knew she was starting to feel discouraged, and he had worked hard to try to keep her spirits up but he was wondering now if it would happen. It wasn't a given, they both knew that, and many more aspiring artists failed than succeeded. But he had felt there was something special about her and he'd been sure finding her musical voice would make the difference.
He reached out and gently touched her hair as it splayed out on her pillow. She had a girl next door look to her and yet she was also incredibly sexy at the same time. Her rich auburn hair framed the creamy skin of her face and her eyes, when they were open, were a rich blue. She had some freckles scattered across her nose, but you had to look close to see them. She was tall – her head hit just at his shoulder – with long shapely legs. Her breasts were full, filling the palms of his hands, while the rest of her was slender. Her smile could be wistful and curious or saucy and playful. She had a softness to her and yet she had a strength he wasn't sure she was fully aware of. She made him feel like he'd stepped out into the sun, that he was looking forward towards the future, a future filled with promise instead of a past filled with darkness.
He slid out from under the covers, hoping not to wake her, and made his way into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him. He grabbed his guitar and his writing notebook and started putting together a song inspired by the events of the day.
Rayna
The sun coming in through the window woke her up, but when she looked over at Deacon's side of the bed, he wasn't there. It felt like it was still early, but maybe he'd gotten up to make coffee or something. She sat up, breathing in, and then slid off the bed. She headed down the hall, but she didn't hear anything and the kitchen was empty and the lights were still off. She turned towards the living room and that's when she saw him, stretched out on the couch asleep. She walked towards him and saw his notebook on the coffee table, opened with a pencil in the crease. She picked it up and glanced over the words he'd written, crossed out and written over. She smiled to herself, thinking it was beautiful, and glad to see he was writing for himself again.
When she looked at him sleeping, she thought his face looked a little less tense, like there was the beginning of an ease to him. She knew it had been tough on him, being back here with her, and it made her feel a little selfish, knowing that. Things didn't feel like they were moving in the right direction anyway and it made her wonder if they should just head back to the beach. Everything had felt easy at the beach. There had been a calmness to her life there that had felt right. Being back in Nashville had felt almost stifling in some ways, not comfortable, and she thought she was beginning to understand why Deacon didn't want to be there either.
She set the notebook back on the table and walked around, sitting on the edge of the couch. She reached out and ran her fingers over his hair and he stirred a little, his eyes opening just a bit. She moved to lay next to him, feeling his arm cross over her protectively and she settled in. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"What for?" she whispered back.
"I couldn't sleep."
She smiled to herself. "I saw what you wrote," she said. "It's beautiful." She sighed. "I know it's been hard."
"I need to get past it all. If this is all gonna work, Nashville's part of the plan."
She didn't say anything at first, just let herself feel close to him, trying to find clarity in all the jumbled thoughts in her brain. "Maybe it's not," she murmured.
"Maybe what's not?"
"Nashville. Maybe it's time to go home."
He gently pressed his cheek against hers. "I thought we were gonna give it at least a few more weeks."
"I don't think I want to anymore." She turned so she was lying on her back, looking up at him. She saw the concern on his face and in his eyes and she put her hand on his cheek. "I want to go home, Deacon."
"But baby, this is your dream. I think…."
She put a finger over his mouth to get him to stop talking. "I'm ready to go home. With you. That's my dream."
He took a deep breath, and she could see the sadness in his eyes. "I think you can do this, baby. I don't think you should give up yet."
She shook her head. "Maybe, but I'm not sure I want to keep trying. You know, my whole life changed when I met you. And I've been happier than I've been in my whole life, being with you. I can still sing, it just doesn't have to be here."
He looked at her for a long time. "We'll do whatever you want," he said finally.
She smiled. "Good." She ran her hand over his arm. "Maybe we can go out for breakfast and then plan our trip home."
Deacon
He had mixed feelings about leaving Nashville and returning home. On the one hand he couldn't deny that the sooner he was gone, the better it would be. The good news for him was that he didn't need to be in Nashville to pursue his career and the beach and the ocean and the salt air was always conducive for writing. On the other hand, he felt like Rayna was giving up too soon. Or maybe giving up wasn't the right term but certainly ending the journey too soon. In his opinion anyway. He worried that she was doing it because of him and he didn't want that. He had to admit though that she seemed lighter somehow since she'd told him she wanted to go back to the beach. Home, she'd said. That had given him a warm feeling inside. For him home was where she was. And, it seemed, for her home was with him.
He hadn't been able to talk her out of it, although he admittedly didn't push too hard. She seemed happier once they'd made a plan. She had no other firm dates scheduled, so they could leave whenever they wanted. She wanted to be able to close up the condo for sure and had even tentatively talked about selling it. He'd tried to dissuade her – just in case – but she was leaning in that direction. Her sister didn't need the place and had left the decision with her. With her decision made, she was anxious to move forward.
They had just placed their order at the diner near their hotel. She reached across the table for his hands. He took them and smiled at her. "You happy?" he asked.
She nodded, smiling back at him. "I am." She squeezed his hands gently. "Thank you for doing this with me and supporting me. I just hope you aren't too disappointed in me for wanting to leave."
He shook his head. "I ain't disappointed, baby. You know I'll do whatever you think is the right thing. And if you ever change your mind someday, I'll still be right there for you."
"I'm not gonna change my mind, Deacon. If I can't be at the beach, it's just not worth it. Plus we can still write together, can't we?"
"Absolutely. I bet we can sell our songs."
She nodded. "I'm open to that." She smiled. "I love writing with you."
"You know you can write on your own too."
"I haven't been doing it very long. Writing at all, that is."
"Don't matter. The more you do it the better you get." The waitress came back with their food, and they sat back. After a few moments of silence while they ate, he looked up at her. "I'm gonna do everything I can to give you the life you deserve."
She smiled sweetly. "You already do, babe."
It was a little over a week after they'd gotten back to the beach house when he got a call from an unknown number. He recognized the area code – 615 – as being from Nashville. He glanced out the front window, spotting Rayna on the beach. She seemed happy to be back. He had no reason to believe otherwise or that she'd change her mind. But this call could be something important for her and could change her life. If she was open to it. He accepted the call.
"Hello?"
"Hello. My name's Watty White. I was told I could reach Rayna Jaymes at this number."
"Yes sir, Mr. White." He knew who Watty White was. He was the head of A&R for Universal Nashville, probably the most influential record label in town. His heart started racing and he wondered if, now that she'd made the decision to leave Nashville, this man was calling to bring her back. "I'll get her for you right now."
He immediately walked out the front door and down onto the beach. It was a breezy day and Rayna's hair was all caught up in the wind, whipping around her face. She was wearing a heavy sweater and jeans, her arms wrapped around her waist as she walked along the edge of the surf. She looked his way as he approached. "Hey," she said with a smile. "You want to walk with me?"
He shook his head. "There's someone on the phone for you. Watty White." Her eyes widened. She knew who Watty was too. For a second, she looked conflicted but then she reached her hand out and he handed her the phone. Then he turned and hurried back to the porch, giving her some privacy. He sat on one of the porch chairs and watched her. Her aimless walking had turned into pacing. He couldn't tell from where he was sitting if she was talking or just listening or what her facial expressions were. He felt anxious but also a little excited, wondering if maybe this would be what she'd been looking for after all. Eventually he saw her lower the phone and she was looking out over the ocean. Then she finally turned and headed back for the house, her pace picking up as she did until she was practically running.
Rayna
At first, when Deacon handed her the phone, she just stood there, staring at his back as he walked towards the house. She finally put the phone to her ear. "This is Rayna Jaymes," she said, hearing a little nervousness in her voice.
"Rayna, my name is Watty White and I'm with Universal Nashville. I got a copy of your demo and then went to hear you play at Douglas Corner a couple weeks ago. I was very impressed with you and was hoping you could come in and meet with me to talk about your future."
For a second she couldn't speak, but she knew she needed to say something. "Well, Mr. White, I appreciate that, but I'm not still in Nashville."
"Where are you?"
"I'm back home. At the beach."
"I'd still really like for us to meet. Any chance of you getting back here sometime soon?"
"I, uh, I don't know. Is it something we could talk about over the phone?"
"We could. I'd still want you in Nashville at some point. To get you in the studio and talk about next steps."
"In the studio?"
He chuckled softly on the other end of the line. Watty White was one of the most important executives in the music industry. She knew he had worked with some of the best artists in Nashville and she was a little stunned to actually be on the phone with him. "Rayna, I think you have the talent that can take you places. I would want to talk with you about a contract and get you started on recording your first album."
"You, you want to sign me?"
"I do. On our Mercury label. We'd record your first record and then work on getting you hooked up with a tour and radio support."
"Wow." At first that was all she could say. Everything he'd told her was swirling around in her head. "Mr. White, I appreciate all this, but I really need to have some time to kind of figure it all out."
"That's fine. When do you think you can be back in Nashville?"
She glanced over her shoulder to where Deacon was sitting on the porch. "The thing is I wasn't planning on coming back," she said.
He didn't say anything at first. "Are you saying you don't want to pursue this?" he asked finally.
"I don't know. What I am saying is that I'm not coming back to Nashville. If that matters, I understand, but my home is here."
"Rayna, if you want to do this, we can work something out. Take a couple days to think it through and then let me know how you want to move forward."
"Thank you, Mr. White. I will."
"Oh, and Rayna? Please call me Watty." There was a momentary pause. "I'll look forward to hearing from you."
"Thank you, Mr., I mean, Watty." He'd already hung up. She stood for a moment, wondering if she'd dreamed this, and then wondering if she hadn't, what should she do next. She lowered the phone and looked out at the waves crashing onto the shore, as though the answer was there. Then she turned and started back for the house, first walking and finally running, until she reached the porch and Deacon. She handed him his phone.
"Good news?"
She took a deep breath and then nodded. "He wants to sign me. Put out a record, then find a tour for me to go on. He wants me to come see him in Nashville."
He was having a hard time not smiling. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"I did. But I don't want to have to go back to Nashville to do it."
"Maybe you don't have to."
"I need to call him back in a couple days to let him know what I want to do."
He did grin then, pulling her into his arms. "I'd say we got some stuff to talk about then, huh?" He kissed her. "But first maybe we celebrate."
She smiled back at him. "Yeah, let's do that." He took her hand and led her back in the house where they celebrated and planned and figured it all out.