Page 80 of Born Daddy

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rogan pulled up to his parent’s summer place, a late forties cabin style home painted a brick red with white trim at Stiles Lake reservoir, an almost ninety-minute drive from Rogan’s apartment. For as long as Rogan could remember, the residence had displayed an iron eagle above the front door, the same as many traditional New England homes. The decoration seemed to herald their arrival as the tires of the truck crunched on the dirt and rock road. When he was a kid driving with his parents to the lake retreat, he and his siblings would play a game of counting eagles, and whoever spotted the most by the time they’d arrived was the winner. No actual prize would be given other than bragging rights.

“This is so nice.”

Tate craned his neck as he stared in awe at the thickly wooded surroundings of pine, birch trees and ferns. Tall, majestic cedars created a wall between the driveway they shared with two other cabins and his family’s place. As it was, Tate had been glued to the passenger side window once the lake came into view. A few minutes before when they’d driven over the causeway, Tate had let out an excited gasp then announced he’d spotted a snapping turtle lounging on a rock.

Between this reaction, the trip to Fenway Park and the thrill of their beach getaway— Rogan’s heart broke for the child who’d barely had the chance to be a child. Excursions that Rogan had taken for granted as a kid, happy memories he’d shared with his family and friends were a foreign concept to a foster kid who’d spent most of his time in and around the city.

Tate whipped his head around, a smile decorating his animated features. “I saw boats. Do people also swim in that lake?”

“Yup.” Rogan grinned. “I was thinking we might want to get here earlier next time so we can have a chance to take a dip. We’ll have to pick you up a pair of swimming trunks if you don’t have any.”

Rogan had purposely arrived later than normal so Tate wouldn’t have to deal with frolicking with his family in addition to the barbecue. His plan was to limit the amount of time they spent on their initial visit so Tate wouldn’t get too overwhelmed. And while he knew his parents would be kind to Tate, his hothead younger brother was a question mark. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, his other brother and his sister weren’t a guaranteed welcome wagon either.

Right as Rogan parked the truck on the driveway side of the cedars, Tate grabbed his wrist.

“I need a second.”

Rogan covered Tate’s hand with his own, caressing the skin in slow, gentle movements. He’d never admit it to Tate, but he was a bit nervous too. While he’d meant every word when he’d told Tate he didn’t owe an explanation to anyone regarding his personal life, this was still his family. The ingrained need to please still existed. And he loved all of them dearly—hothead brother included.

“Let me know when you’re ready. We’ll wait here as long as you want, but prepare yourself. If my mom’s already spotted us, she’s likely to come bursting out the back door.”

Tate nodded, licking his lips as if his mouth had gone dry.

The way their summer place was situated meant the back door off the kitchen was where people entered. What would typically be considered the front of the house, faced the lake and a long expanse of lawn with several stone steps leading down to the road where no parking existed.

As a kid, Rogan had never found it unusual to be entering straight into the kitchen, with the enclosed porch and main entrance at the opposite end. In the center of the small home was the living room with a small bedroom and narrow wood stairs leading up to an attic space they’d also used as a bedroom—mostly for him and his closest brother.

As his other siblings had gotten older, they’d begun to get jealous of the cool space he and Seb got to use during their summertime weekend visits. But he and Seb fixed that problem. They told Gerry and Kathy about the ghosts of dead British soldiers from the Revolutionary War who were haunting the tiny space, still seeking revenge against the Yankees who’d wrested New England from them.

Tate’s breathing had evened out, and he swallowed hard, nodding in a way that signaled to Rogan he’d reached an inner resolve. Tate regarded him.

“Okay. I think I’m okay.”

Rogan smiled, but as he started to draw his hand away, Tate grabbed him.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“You…you don’t have to be, you know, affectionate with me or anything. I don’t mind and I promise I won’t get my feelings hurt.”

Rogan straightened, frowning from the unexpected remark. “Are you uncomfortable with affection in front of others?”

He hadn’t noticed that characteristic from Tate at all. He seemed to revel in any touches Rogan gave him, climbing onto Rogan’s lap and snuggling up with him once he found out Rogan loved it as much as he did. Had he only been doing that because it made Rogan happy? Was he stuffing down what he preferred in the name of being a good boy?

“Don’t be mad—” Tate pressed his lips together, shaking his head as if angry with himself. “Sorry, I know you won’t get mad. I believe you, but I’m still getting used to it. What I mean is it’s so awesome that you’re affectionate, I never realized how starved I was for it, but…” He gave a small shrug. “Won’t your family think it’s weird? Two guys?” His brow creased. “Especially since it was all over the news what me and Cam were into. They’re already going to think I’m a freak as it is.”

Rogan groaned, scrubbing his face with one hand. Sure, he’d known there’d be moments during his new Daddyhood where he’d be at a loss on how to handle a situation, but this seemed more like a boyfriend dilemma, not a Daddy/boy one. Yet, maybe not. Their connection informed their entire relationship, not merely one aspect at a time. It wasn’t the same as the role play he’d witnessed with Master Zane’s little. Tate lived this reality every moment, and Rogan had agreed to be that guiding hand.

“I understand, honey. But consider this. Everyone knows already, as you said, and we discussed this when I decided it would be advisable to meet everyone sooner rather than later because of the Mitch nonsense.” Rogan cradled Tate’s hands between his own. “By me not only bringing you here, but showing everyone how much you mean to me, that I’m not hesitant to be affectionate, I’m letting them know you’re an important part of my life. I’ve only brought a date to one of my parent’s get-togethers a couple times over the years, and no, I haven’t been openly affectionate with them.

Rogan leaned over the console and pressed his mouth to Tate’s. “You’re not a date. You’re my boy, my partner. You’re not going anywhere, and they need to see that.”

Tate’s jaw went slack. “Wow. Okay.” He straightened a bit, the hint of a smile trying to appear through his clear nervousness. “That means a lot, Daddy.” His eyes darted up to meet Rogan’s. “But you’ll be Rogan, not Daddy, this afternoon. Is that cool?”

Rogan brought Tate’s hands to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “It’s cool. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Tate cocked his head. “Huh?”

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