Page 17 of Born Daddy

She patted his arm. “Of course, hon. I’ll bring your coffee right away, too.”

Tate grinned. His conversation with Rogan the night before had helped to calm him quite a bit.

“Thanks again, Lolly.”

As usual, Tate kept his head bowed as he made his way to the booth in the back. He didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone. More than once he’d been shouted at—even pushed around a couple times when he’d been on the street—as if he’d been the one to commit the horrific murders Cam had been responsible for. He supposed those strangers were no different than the detectives who were certain of his guilt.

Tate reached his table then slid into the banquette, taking the side that put him with his back to the rest of the room and left him facing nothing but a wall. Even the customers wandering by him to take the hallway to the restrooms would only see the back of his head as they approached. Whenever that happened, Tate would be sure to keep his chin lowered until they passed him on their way back.

Lolly appeared next to him and turned his mug upright. “Here you go, hon. Your order should be up in a couple minutes.”

“Awesome.”

He smiled at her and she tilted her head.

“You seem rather cheery this morning. I hope that means things are going better?”

Lolly never pried, never referenced anything specifically about Tate’s situation or what had happened. However, she did try and make him feel welcome and, on occasion, would offer some generic advice. Her commentary revolved around safe topics wuch as casually mentioning there were fresh strawberries to put on the pancakes, and wouldn’t he like to give it a try?

“I think they are. I made a friend.”

He swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek as he marveled at how stupid he was to let such a comment slip. Rogan had said he was a friend, but was he really? Was he just a nice guy? Would Lolly expect details, or assume he was screwing some random dude? Tate’s stomach started twisting again and he regretted the extra food he’d ordered. He might have plenty of money still, but it wouldn’t last forever. He needed to be careful with every dime.

Lolly’s jaw dropped, but then her lips curled into a happy smile. “That’s wonderful.” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “Mom’s advice, though. Be careful, just in case they’re trying to take advantage somehow.” She straightened. “But I’m glad you’re not alone, hon. I really am.”

After Lolly strolled away, Tate tried to push away one certain thing she’d said. Mom. He’d give almost anything if he’d had a mom like her. Tate wasn’t much for regret, his current predicament notwithstanding, so he rarely mourned his parents. The only one he vaguely remembered was his mom, but he’d never known the love or comfort of a mom and dad. Wishing things had been different was pointless. They were what they were.

Sure, the obvious connection between him needing to belong to a Daddy and to be their perfect boy was evident, but regretting he never had loving parents wasn’t a concern. Someday, this nightmare would be over, and he’d find another Daddy. He’d remake his life into a new, happier version, the same way he had when he’d been ejected from the foster care system.

Once his food arrived, the first thing Tate did was pop a strip of bacon into his mouth, allowing the salty, crunchy meat to bring his taste buds alive. Before grabbing another piece, he took several hearty swallows of the cool milk. Nothing had tasted good for a while and the salty meat had hit the spot.

Tate had just finished his second piece of bacon when he was startled by a young man sliding into the booth across from him. The grinning, bizarrely pale guy sporting a contrived goth look—that reeked of designer brand intervention—stared wide-eyed at Tate through badly, made up eyes. Tate supposed the black-haired wannabe thought he appeared cool and intimidating. Instead, he gave off the impression that he was about to attend a Halloween party.

Tate couldn’t get his mouth to move. The shock of having a stranger invade his personal space hadn’t worn off. Where was Lolly? Usually, she’d cut people off at the pass if they tried to bug him.

The stranger swiped the greasy strands of his black bangs off his forehead, only to have them flop back down again. “Fuck. I thought that was you. I am such a huge fan.”

The greasy goodness Tate had consumed threatened to come back up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His standard response to rude queries rarely worked, but he always used it as a first line of defense, just in case.

“Aw, come on, man.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m not tryin’ to bust your balls. I’m totally on your side.”

Tate’s shoulders relaxed, some of the tension leaving his body. The stranger wanted to let him know he believed Tate, that’s all. A few people he’d run into at stores or on the bus or whatever, had offered their verbal support, told him the cops were all assholes and he was getting a bad rap. No one had gone so far as this dude, but Tate was sure he could thank the guy then send him on his way without appearing rude.

“Oh, well thank you. It’s always nice to hear when someone says they believe me, that they know I didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

Tate could never bring himself to use the word murder when speaking with strangers.

The guy furrowed his brow. “Huh?” He scrunched up his nose and shook his head. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all.” He folded his hands on the table then leaned closer to Tate. “What I’m saying, is that I think it’s fucking cool what you and your Daddy did, that it was awesome.” He licked his lips. “Hey, I know you’ve got a lot of heat on you now, so you gotta lay low. But let’s hang out in the meantime, get to know each other better.”

He reached his hand across the table as if he were about to cover Tate’s, and Tate snatched his hand away with a gasp, his stomach roiling.

“Don’t be like that, baby. Think of all the fun we can have when we can go on the hunt together. We could go somewhere far away where the cops won’t know you.” His grin turned leering. “Then, you can lure them in, like you did before, and we can have all the fun we want.”

Tate slapped his palm to his mouth, fighting to keep his stomach from emptying what little breakfast he’d had the chance to eat. He wanted to scream, to shout at this psycho staring back at him with glee, his features in Tate’s mind morphing into a cartoon, bug-eyed, drooling villain. He wondered if he was going insane.

The man reached for him again and Tate’s instinct to flee kicked in. He launched himself from the booth, his ankles tangling as he did and propelling him to the floor. His palms slapped against the linoleum, the only thing saving him from face-planting. His feet scrabbled beneath him as he struggled to get up, his focus fixed on nothing else but escaping the clutches of this sick freak.

---