Page 6 of Born Daddy

“Thanks again. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Rogan folded his hands on the table and leaned forward with a frown. “No one? Not even a counselor or something?”

Tate gave a small shrug. “I saw a guy a few times, but he was creeping me out. I could tell he’d already come to a conclusion about me, that I must be as bad as Cam was. So, I stopped going.”

“Asshole,” Rogan growled.

Tate arched his eyebrows. “You think so?” He fiddled with the paper napkin that was wrapped around the cutlery. “I tried seeing things from his side. You know, like you were warning me about. That if I confessed to anything, he’d have to tell.”

Rogan winced. “I… Look, I barely know you. But even so, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. My warning was more of a disclaimer, if you will.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose it was more for me than for you, a way to absolve myself of guilt should you tell me something I’d have to share.” He crossed his arms and leaned forward again. “I’m assuming you knew nothing, the same way I knew nothing. Let’s operate under that assumption for us both. Deal?”

Tate nodded, relief washing over him. “Deal.”

He understood agreements, deals. Promises. Behaving. The moment he’d given himself over to Cam and become his boy, he’d followed the rules and done what he was told. He’d been a good boy.

Rogan’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Perfect. Let’s put in our order then we can begin.”

A cloud passed over his features as if Rogan had remembered there was nothing to smile about.

Tate slid his menu to the edge of the table. “I’m not all that hungry. I was just going to get some coffee, if that’s all right?”

Rogan’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure?” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Rogan set down his menu. “I guess we should also establish some parameters here. Complete transparency with each other. No holding back. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

God, but he’d craved this. Established boundaries gave him the structure he required to properly function. The biggest reason why he’d been so scattered since Cam’s death was there’d been no one to tell him it was okay, that they’d take care of everything and he’d be fine. He’d never been so far from fine as he was right now—not even back when he was in foster care. Rogan might not be a Daddy, but he was older, an authority figure.

Tate had already seen how he’d taken charge at the service and made sure Mrs. LeBlanc was all right. That alone had cemented his decision to approach Rogan.

Rogan glanced up from the menu he’d gone back to studying. “First test of transparency. Are you only getting coffee because you don’t have the money for anything else? I never had a clear understanding of the nature of your relationship with Cam…” Rogan cleared his throat. “But I got the impression he handled everything, uh, financially for you?”

“He did.” In some ways, Tate wondered if the Daddy/boy aspect of his life with Cam would be more difficult for Rogan to grasp than anything else about their relationship. “But I’ve got money. I’m not ordering because my stomach’s upset.”

Tate squirmed on the bench seat. He should probably confess to at least one thing. Yet, he was too frightened to bring it up. If the cops took the money, then what would he do? One of Cam’s rules invaded his thoughts.

“Not admitting to something you know is wrong is just as bad as lying to me about it, even if I don’t ask. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

Tate’s hands shook and he clasped them together in his lap, worried that Rogan might’ve noticed.

“Have you been eating?” Rogan regarded him with a furrowed brow, concern shining from his eyes. “I remember you always being thin, but I’m not sure if it was this thin.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. I guess my clothes have seemed a bit looser. I try to eat, but it makes me nauseous. I can’t stop my thoughts.” Bile rose from his stomach and he fought to keep from gagging. “They showed me the pictures.”

Rogan’s jaw dropped. “Wait… They? You mean the detectives made you look at the—”

“Are you guys ready to order?”

Tate started at the server’s voice, his heart thundering. He swallowed hard and did the deep breathing exercises the counselor had shown him during their first visit.

Rogan scrubbed his face with one hand then regarded the server with a tight smile. She stood with her pencil poised over her pad, gazing at Rogan with a dispassionate stare.

“Do you have any chicken noodle soup, something along those lines?”

“Yeah. We also have cream of broccoli.”

“No, thanks. We’ll stick to the chicken noodle. Two cups of that with crackers, dry toast if you don’t have the crackers, and the two cups of coffee.”

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