No Strings Attached Ch. 05

Jon stared at the door. He should not be here. How was he going to explain knowing their address? He had spent the past hour walking, trying to come to terms with the truth that had only been a vague dream, a remote possibility. Until tonight.

He did not doubt Alicia. She was not the type of woman to lie. That much he knew. It was not as if she had anything to gain either. She was not demanding seven years of back child support, as she should. All she had asked was some information.

Granted, he had had to call his mother for some it. He always zoned out when the woman began to groan on about the illustrious Tyler family history. He had been drug as a child to too many Daughters of the Alamo meetings. While the first bit about his parents, brother, and sister was easy enough, the rest about long-dead grandparents and great-grandparents was not.

He was about to turn, go back to the hotel, and do he had no idea what when the door opened. Her eyes were swollen. He had done that to her. How many other tears had she shed alone over the past seven years? How many other crises had she been forced to handle on her own? Jon's throat tightened at the thought.

Before she could ask questions, demand to know how he knew where they lived, he held out the scrap of paper. "I'm sorry. It took me a while. I had to call my mother for most of it."

She nodded her head in silence. Her trembling fingers grasped the paper like it was a treasure map.

Whether she would have thrown it back in his scarred face or screamed and yelled in anger, perhaps even called the police on him as a stalker, he would never know. That tiny whirlwind of Hope rushed out of nowhere, dancing, and singing, "Jon, Jon!"

His child, his daughter. How had he not seen it before? Yes, she had her mother's warm brown eyes, her skin a light olive denoting generations of mixed blood, and her lighter blondish-brown curls several shades darker than the blond he had once been, before the fire singed it all away. It was also several shades lighter than her mother's rich brown with faint auburn highlights. He could almost remember how soft Alicia's hair had felt between his fingers that night. But it was there. The shape of her small mouth, nose, and even those eyes was Tyler too.

"Mama was putting me to bed. I have school tomorrow."

Was there a slight pout on her lips? Had he been the cause of her pain as well as her mother's? He wanted to wrap her in his arms, tell her how very sorry he was, promise her she would never hurt again. But he did not have that right.

Not yet, anyway. They needed to talk. He and Alicia. Because if she thought he was going to buy that no-strings-attached line again, she was wrong. He should not have that night. No, this little girl was so much more than a string. She was a tie that bound him to the woman he loved. A living breathing memory of the one perfect night in his long, fucked up life. And he was not walking away from that.

It was another chance at life. He had already been given a second one, surviving what few men did, what his men had not. So how many chances did a man get?

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's late. I should have known. I just stopped by to give your mother something. I'll let you get to bed," he was rambling. He wished he had that paper back, something, anything to do with his hands. Instead, he placed them behind his back. There was nothing at-ease about his stance, though.

Hope reached for his hand. It was not the first time she had touched him over the past few days. But it was the first touch of his child. His child. The words still seemed surreal in his mind. He smiled as he treasured the knowledge and her warm touch.

"Mama, can Jon help me with my prayers tonight?"

He heard the sharp intake of breath, looked up into her face before she could mask the pain, saw more tears gathering in her eyes, "I'm sure Jon needs to get home, sweetie."

But he had no home. Perhaps he never had. And while he was hardly the type for prayers, not even when he had thought he was dying, it was not some god whose name he called, but hers, Alicia's. Still, if there was such a thing as prayer, his was for the chance to be there for his child, and her.

"Por favor, Mama. Please. It won't take long. I promise to go straight to sleep," she pleaded, looking from one of them to the other. Jon smiled, imagining the trouble she could cause with that look in the years to come. How many disagreements they would have over this one.

But right now, this was the argument that mattered most to him, "I don't mind. I'd love to help Hope with her prayers."

He watched the movement of her throat muscles, the way that her knuckles turned white on that sheet of paper as she nodded her head. But she had nodded, given her permission for these precious moments with his child.

Hope took his hand and drew him past her mother, down a small hallway, and into some pink nightmare of fluffy unicorns and princesses.

***

Alicia was left standing in the living room, holding Hope's homework assignment. The paper shook as she read - Jonathan Edward Tyler. The other names did not matter. After seven years, she knew his name. The man who had given her one perfect night and Hope. Her no-strings-attached lover.

But this piece of paper boded other questions. The most pressing of which was: what now? Obviously, this changed their no-strings deal. But how? What was he doing here? How did he even know where they lived?

Oh my god, a strange man was in Hope's bedroom saying her prayers with her. Not a strange man, but her father. While she was relegated to waiting outside. Alicia could count on one hand the number of times she had missed Hope's prayers. Usually, when she was ill. But things were changing.

Why had he come back? What had drawn him to the diner that day? And why had he stayed? Had he suspected even before she told him? Oh, why had she told him at all? What was she thinking?

Alicia folded the paper and wiped the tears that had begun to fall again with the back of her hand. There was only one way to find out the answers to her questions. They needed to talk.

She walked down the hallway to her daughter's bedroom. They knelt on the floor. It was usually her there beside Hope. But tonight it was her father. Alicia studied the man. With his eyes shut, she would not recognize him.

The lower right half of his face and neck was barely scarred, but the rest of his face, head, and neck was covered in shiny, red, and silver ridges. His mouth was drawn down on the left side; his nose and left eye misshapen. The top of his head that had been covered in the short blond hair of a Marine high-and-tight was instead a road map of those scars.

"...and god bless my new friend, Jon, too. Make him all better the way Mama does me when she kisses my boo-boos. Amen."

Those blue eyes looked up, caught, and held her gaze. She felt the heat rise into her cheeks at having been caught staring.

But it was not the way he thought. She would never, could never pity him. He had survived. He had survived his wife's betrayal and death, and he had survived this too. He was strong. A strength she saw reflected in their daughter.

"Okay, young lady, it is time for bed now," she did her best to be stern.

"Yes, Mama." Hope smiled as she touched her father's shoulder, "Thank you, Jon. Can I read you another story after school tomorrow?"

He smiled, though the left side of his face remained mostly an immovable mask of those shiny red scars. "Nothing would make me happier, Hope. But your Mama is right. It is time for bed."

Her daughter nodded and stood up. Alicia would have sworn that her heart was in a vise, and the screws turned as their daughter leaned over and placed one of her special kisses on the worst of the burns that covered her father's left cheek. She had never been prouder or more frightened in her life.

Alicia's nice, comfortable world was changing fast. Too fast. Just as it had that night. This man seemed to be the harbinger of change in her world. And what that meant this time was uncertain. But one thing was for sure, she needed to find out. They needed to talk.

"Buenos noches, Hope. Jon and I are going out for a walk for a bit. But you can call Alison if you need anything." This was not a conversation they could risk having where their daughter might overhear.

"Si, Mama. Buenos noches, Jon."

"Goodnite, my little angel," that smile was broader as he stood up, his unscarred right hand brushed the hair back from her face. "I'll see you tomorrow. I promise."

Her daughter smiled and turned over, closing her eyes and cuddling her favorite pink fluffy unicorn.

Alicia turned off the light switch. She knocked on the door across the small hall. Alison opened it, her tablet in hand. "Hey, sweetie. Is everything alright?" The woman looked over her shoulder.

Alicia nodded, "Yes. Jon and I are going for a walk. Will you keep an ear out; if Hope needs anything."

"Of course," the gentle squeeze of her friend's hand told Alicia more than her words. "I'll be fine," whether she was trying to reassure Alison or herself, she was not sure.

She nipped into the third bedroom, only long enough to grab the jacket that hung on the back of the door. DeShaun was still out with his friends on a Friday night, so the attic addition was empty. Alicia did not dare to look at him. She just assumed that he followed her as she walked down the hall. She walked through the living room and out the door.

It was only when the cool desert night air hit her that she shivered. It was not from chills; her jacket warded those off. But the enormity of the situation had finally caught up with her. "What now?"