Alicia choked back tears as she watched them, two heads bent over the book. One sandy brown curls and the other a road map of red and silver scars. In the two weeks since that night, Hope had not missed a day reading to her father. Jon continued to come to the diner every afternoon, always after the lunch rush. He was there to greet Hope, chatting with her for a couple of hours, then slipping away when Alison took the little girl home.
The trouble was they were no closer to a solution. Hell, Jon avoided the subject when she tried to bring it up. She had discovered that he was staying in the chain motel down the street. He lived a few hours away in the mountains across the state line. He had only been in town for one of his regular check-ups at the VA hospital that first time he came to the diner. Even before she had told him that he was Hope's father, something had kept him here.
Alicia was getting more confused by the day, perhaps the moment. The very thought of Jon returning to his home frightened her. It was not just that Hope had come to depend on him in a way that she never had poor Steve.
The homeless man had reappeared the day after their walk in the desert. She had almost not recognized him. Not only was he clean, but shaven and wearing new clothes as well. It seemed that rather than spending the past few days in the bottle again, he had found work. He was helping a widow out around her ranch.
He had brought another pink fluffy unicorn for Hope. He had smiled as she raced through the door, sing-songing his name. He had stayed for pie and a story before explaining to her daughter that he would not be around as much, that he had a job now. Her daughter beamed and hugged the man that, for a time, had filled the hole in her little heart.
Alicia had thought that perhaps Fate once again had taken a hand in their lives. While she was incredibly happy for Steve and hoped that this time he truly did manage to get back on his feet, it also meant that the way was cleared for Jon to take a bigger role in their child's life. But as she had tried to tell him that night, Hope needed more than another male role model, a couple of hours every afternoon, and someone to listen to her read.
'And you? What do you need? What do you want?' That voice had been getting louder in her mind these past few days. What did she need? She had not been with a man since that night. Seven years was an incredibly long dry spell for anyone. And since that kiss in the desert, the toys in the drawer next to her bed and her fingers simply were not up to the job. Even when she did resort to them, it was his face that filled her fantasies, that fueled her orgasms.
Of course, it had been him that she had fantasized about for seven years. Her one perfect lover. But it was different now. It was not that handsome Marine with his high-and-tight and sad blue eyes that had sent her soaring these past few nights. It was him - the scarred and deeply wounded man whose kisses had been like coming home that night.
But his words echoed in her mind: 'I won't be some pity fuck.'
Alicia felt her nipples harden within the confines of her utilitarian white cotton bra. They were almost painful as she watched him smile, that lopsided one that she had come to love. Love? Was that it? Had she fallen in love with the father of her child? Or had she been in love with him all along?
But the wounded warrior sitting patiently with their child was no fantasy. He was very much a real man. One whose scars went deeper than skin and muscle. She had known it that night. What for her had been a perfect lover, who had given her a surprise gift to cherish, had even then been a wounded man trying to escape the betrayal of the people he cared about, in her arms and bed.
His words that night only confirmed how much worse those wounds had gotten over the past seven years. Unlike the scars that covered his head, face, and neck, the ones to his pride were open, suppurating, and festering wounds.
He had taken her genuine attempt to seduce him as pity. And the truth was she had neither the experience or confidence to try again.
It left them at a stalemate. None of them got what they needed. Hope still lived with the Daddy hole as Alicia had come to think of the bond that she too shared with her daughter. She had only traded one male role model for another. Jon was alone in a crappy motel. And she was so sexually frustrated that she had gone through a pack of batteries and risked carpal tunnel. Still, she wanted him.
She swallowed the pain and brushed away the tear that had escaped its prison. She forced a smile and turned back into the kitchen to oversee the finishing touches in preparation for the dinner rush in an hour.
***
Jon swallowed the lump that seemed to be perpetually lodged in his throat these days. As much as he loved spending time with his daughter, it was not enough. Not enough time. And certainly not enough to simply be her friend. Another male role model, as Alicia had called it.
He hated to admit it, but she had been right. It was not enough for Hope either. He saw that now. In the week since Steve had reappeared, only to say goodbye, he had seen how the child reluctantly transferred her hopes and dreams to him. But he could tell that she feared he too would abandon her.
Nothing was further from his mind as he listened to the story. This one tore at his heart. The tale of a Daddy monkey frustrated with his child for doing all the wrong things. Things that children do: throwing things, jumping, and swinging.
How many times had he gotten into trouble with his mother the same way? Except this Daddy monkey apologized for yelling as his Little Monkey. He knew that Clarice Buchanan Tyler never would.
Jon longed to be different. To be like the father in her story. To wrap this miracle of Hope in his arms. To hold her tight and never let her go. To whisper, 'I love you, little monkey' in her ear. To hear more of those nightly prayers. To tuck her in at night and wake her in the morning. He wanted to be more than just Jon; he wanted to be her father. Her real father in more ways than simply the blood running in her veins.
He had turned the situation over and over in his head for two weeks. There was not much else to do in that tiny motel room. Even his morning runs in the desert were consumed with the dilemma. Well, not entirely.
He snuck a glance at the woman half-hidden by the kitchen door. She consumed him in other ways. Even just sitting here next to his daughter, that brief glimpse was enough to get him half hard. For two weeks, his libido that he had thought almost dead had flared to life like a wildfire flamed by the wind from the embers of a cold campfire. His good right hand was in almost as much pain as the mangled left one from overuse. And still, he was unsatisfied.
It was her touch that he craved. Her kisses. The feel of her lush body writhing against his as it had that night. The night that their child was conceived. And that night under the blanket of stars in the cool desert air haunted his dreams. He wanted her. Fuck, he needed her.
As many times as he ran the situation through his head, he still could not come up with a winning battle plan. Like that other time. Some times there was simply no way out. That was how he felt now.
He could not walk away from his child. Not now that he knew her. Knew how very much she needed him. How much he needed her. Wanted her.
But this male role model thing was not working. It was not what Hope needed. Or what he wanted.
