II.
He was almost positive he was sweating bullets as he led her down the hallway.
With the exception of Scarlett, the vast extent of his prior houseguests had been girlfriends and one night stands. He had absolutely no idea how to entertain a 14-year-old girl, and the impending task was terrifying him.
He'd had days to prepare, but it didn't matter. He went to the store, had Scarlett help him clean, and even hooked up his cable so she'd have something to watch, but it all was moot the second he saw her standing on his porch.
This wasn't his niece, or the child of a friend, or hell, even a random neighbor. Any of those would have been tenfold easier. This was his daughter; his own flesh and blood whom he barely knew.
Sure, he thought he knew her. He had watched her grow up. He went to her birthday parties, bought her gifts, and watched movies with her on the tour bus. He loved her because she was Rayna's, but at the same time, on some strange level, he could never really look at her. She embodied everything that he ever wanted. He so wanted that life with her mother; he wanted to be the one standing behind her when she blew out her candles, but he wasn't. As much as he had loved her, seeing her grow before his eyes always served as a painful reminder of what he had lost.
If only you had known, Deacon.
He shook his head, almost bitterly, trying to drown the thought.
"Scarlett's, uh…" He started awkwardly, making it approximately the third word he had said to her since she walked in. He flipped on the light to the bedroom. "She's in Mississippi with her mama, so you can sleep in here. I told her you were coming so I guess she cleaned up and changed the sheets and whatever else."
He watched her place her bag on the floor next to the bed and immediately begin taking in the photos on Scarlett's dresser. Most were of friends, but there were a few that were obviously family. She focused on those with a very mild curiosity gleaming in her eyes, but no expression on her face.
He stared at her. He wasn't quite sure what, if anything, he was looking for. He had remembered a conversation they had in New York, not long before the accident, where she told him she wished she looked more like Rayna instead of Teddy. He had meant it when he said she looked a lot like her mother, but now he was mentally kicking himself for never taking that closer look; for never actually seeing what was there in front of him.
She still looked a lot like Rayna to him, most definitely, and he saw very little of himself. The most beautiful thing about her, he thought, was how she looked like her own person. She was growing into her own self, her own look, and her own personality every day and that suddenly made him proud.
He told everyone, including himself, every day that he knew nothing about being a father; that he wasn't built for it. What he did know, in that very instant, was that the best thing his daughter could be was herself. She didn't need to be him, nor Rayna. Hell, she definitely didn't need to be Teddy. She just needed to be Maddie. He wanted that for her more than anything in the world.
"You know, Maddie," she jumped slightly, and then shyly smiled at him. "If you, uh… if you have any questions for me about those pictures or about… anything, really, just ask. I'm not real sure what to say but I want you to be comfortable here."
She grinned a little harder, turning her attention back to the photos.
"Okay."