Page 98 of Born Daddy

Behind every other consideration was the fear that if he called Rogan, he’d order him not to go to the park, but would send the cops instead. What if Rogan had done something similar that day at the service? What if he’d treated Tate like he was dangerous, hadn’t given him a chance to explain himself?

Tate curled his hands into fists, anger rising as his chest tightened. Cam had cursed all who’d drifted into his orbit. Some through death, some by fear.

He’d worry about punishment and consequences later. They’d be in a public place in the middle of the day. No matter what, before the detectives got their hands on him, Tate had to know who the mysterious Jace was and how he’d been involved in Cam’s life. That was for him and no one else.

With a deep breath, Tate shoved his phone back in his pocket, snatched up his keys and headed out the door. The park wasn’t more than a block away, so he arrived at the edge of the green lawn in no time. Several kids were climbing on the colorful, plastic play pieces with a couple of watchful adults on one bench and a few more on another.

Tate’s gaze traveled beyond the play area until his eyes locked with the young man who Tate now knew to be Jace. Jace had chosen a spot under a large cedar about ten feet from where most of the people had congregated. Tate glanced around, still unsure whether this was another rotten trap set up by the detectives.

Tate steeled himself and moved his leaden legs forward. Almost all his resolve and determination had dissolved once he reached Jace. All that was left was how much of a bad idea this whole escapade might be.

“Hey.” There went his damn brain again. Total loss for words.

Jace peered up at him through eyes with dark circles underneath. Except those deep shadows weren’t from the kohl eyeliner smudged over his lids. This was a haunted man. Beautiful, like an angel with a sharp edge, a broken creature who’d been through the same brand of trauma Tate had endured after Cam’s death.

“I know.” Jace nodded. “This is weird. But I can’t think straight anymore, haven’t slept since I can fucking remember, and I don’t trust anyone.”

Jace’s words seemed to pull Tate down until he was perched on the edge of the bench—a respectable distance, escapable distance even—and waited for Jace to continue.

Jace dug into the Coach crossbody purse slung across his frame and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered the half-crushed box to Tate. An idle thought passed through his mind that Jace seemed more like a vape man.

Tate shook his head. “No thanks.”

With a heavy sigh, Jace went through the motions of breaking off the filter then lighting the cigarette followed by sucking in a deep lungful of smoke. Tate watched in fascination, stunned from finally seeing this mysterious person in the flesh, this entity who’d morphed into a myriad of different characters in his consciousness since the day Tate first heard his name.

Jace stared off into the distance, his gaze seemingly fixed on nothing as he took another drag. The defeated man with the shaggy black hair cut in the latest, most fashionable style was clothed in what Tate guessed were designer items. The type of brands Cam always wore, what he’d buy for Tate.

But beyond the attire, Jace was dangerously thin, worse than Tate had been when he first met Rogan. His skin was pastier than pale, his tinted lips cracked. He regarded Tate with a smirk.

“I’m quite the disaster, aren’t I?”

Tate blinked several times. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I’ve imagined you in my head for so long that…”

He shrugged, so rattled by Jace’s unexpected appearance, he doubted he could make sense of his feelings out loud.

Jace arched his eyebrows. “Oh. So, Cam did tell you about me then. What did he say?” He grunted. “Fucking asshole.” Jace went back to smoking, muttering around the filterless stick.

“N-no.” Tate swallowed hard. “The detectives did.”

Jace fell into a coughing fit, and in a reflexive move, Tate patted his back. Not until Jace turned to him with watery eyes did Tate realize he’d been touching him.

“Uh,” Tate dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. “Are you okay?”

Jace let out a snorting chuckle. “Jesus. I can see why he chose you. Sweet, adorable and compliant. Everything I wasn’t.”

“You were his boy before me?”

Jace rolled his eyes and fell against the back of the curved, wooden bench. “Boy.” Jace side-eyed Tate. “You’re really into that shit, aren’t you?”

Tate found himself going from stunned to annoyed. Not because of Jace’s obvious disdain for Tate’s kink, but because he still had no idea why Jace had sought him out, or even how he’d managed it.

“Why are you here, huh?” Tate frowned. “And how did you know where I lived? I need you to tell me everything, or else I’m calling the cops.” Jace’s eyes widened and Tate knew he had the guy’s attention. “The last time they interrogated me for the millionth time, they asked me about you. And no. Cam never told me about his last boy or boyfriend or whoever you were.”

“Damn. Okay, calm down.” Jace stubbed out his cigarette on the ground. “There’s no reason to call the cops, okay?”

Tate continued to frown at the man who he’d initially assumed was around his age. But now that he’d been sitting with him for a while, he appeared to be closer to thirty.

“Then tell me everything.”

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