Page 21 of Born Daddy

Tate snuffled some more as he turned away, grasping the seat of the chair as he rose from the floor. Rogan moved to assist him, then let his hands fall as he also got to his feet. Tate wobbled a bit, and Rogan laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to sit on the chair again.

Rogan spied a roll of paper towels tucked away in a corner next to the small, metal sink set in the efficiency-sized kitchen. While his initial assessment of the apartment had revolved around how ratty it was, he now took note of how tidy and clean it was as well. The unfair judgement he’d made about Tate filled him with shame. He’d automatically assumed that since he was a young kid on his own, he’d be messy. He’d imagined there’d be random stuff strewn about along with fast food bags or a pizza box or two adding to the décor.

Rogan tore off a sheet from the roll then handed it to Tate, who took it without lifting his eyes. His head remained bowed and his shoulders slumped as he seemed to have gone back to shutting out his dark thoughts.

Rogan wasn’t sure whether his presence was still welcome, but he would insist if he had to. While there hadn’t been any indicators that Tate would self-harm, Rogan couldn’t bear to leave him alone in his current state.

And I promised I wouldn’t.

Rogan knuckled his eyes, let out a short sigh then turned to the small refrigerator. He imagined that Tate could use a cold drink. When he pulled the door open, not only was he once again impressed by how spotless the interior was, but by the food and drink selections. His gaze wandered over the small bottles of fresh fruit and vegetable juice blends with every manner of supplements and vitamins included. Then, he took in the container of brand name mineral water, a gourmet cheese wedge of a variety he didn’t recognize, and a piece of fresh fish wrapped up in plastic on a Styrofoam tray.

Now he knew why the room was sans pizza boxes.

Rogan frowned as he grabbed a water, allowing the door to close of its own weight. Where was Tate getting the money to pay for all this? The authorities would’ve seized everything, the bank frozen along with any other assets. And while he didn’t know many details, Tate had shared that he was a product of the foster care system. His gut clenched as he glanced over his shoulder at the young man still bent over the table, his forearms stretched across the surface as if he were keeping himself from falling forward.

One of the many activities that was prevalent in the neighborhood Tate had been forced to inhabit was the prostitution. Rogan imagined that Tate had become used to the amenities the well-heeled Cam had provided him. Cam had been obsessed with making money even back when they were in high school. His foray into stocks and real estate investments hadn’t been much of a surprise.

Rogan covered the distance from the refrigerator to the table in a few large strides, then set the cool water bottle in front of Tate. Rogan returned to his own chair. He wasn’t sure how much Tate wanted to discuss his circumstances, but at least he could steer him away from the earlier incident. And if Rogan was being honest with himself, he couldn’t bear the thought of Tate having to sell his body to survive.

Tate lifted his eyes while still keeping his head bowed. “Thanks.”

He pulled the bottle closer with one hand, sliding it across the table where it left a trail of condensation in its wake. He didn’t open the container, but kept his fingers wrapped around the base as if it were an anchor.

Tate regarded him again. “Sorry.”

Rogan drew his eyebrows together. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Tate let out a sigh then cracked open the bottle. “This isn’t what you signed up for.” He took two big swallows of the water before continuing. “I won’t be offended or hurt if you decide that this—” Tate gestured between them. “—is too much of a hassle. I mean, I get it. I’m needy on a good day.” He chuckled with no mirth. “And I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a good day.” Tate lowered his eyes. “I don’t want you to end up hating me.”

Rogan’s heart ached for this poor, lost creature in front of him. Tate wasn’t helpless, had already found a way to survive and knew how to stand up for himself. But survival alone wasn’t the answer. A man like Tate needed to be cared for, to know he was loved—that he held worth. Even if Rogan couldn’t take Cam’s place, Tate needed a friend who truly cared.

He wouldn’t abandon him.

“That will never happen, Tate.” The instinct to reach across the table and place his hand on Tate’s hit him, but he pushed it away. “We’ve been through this already, okay?” Rogan settled back in the chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look. We’re in the unique position of being the only two people who can empathize with what the other one is going through. But beyond that, I like you.” Rogan bit his lip. He needed to be delicate with his words. “As a friend. As much as you might assume you need my company more than I need yours…” Rogan shifted on the chair. “That isn’t true.”

Tate cocked his head, his brow creasing. “You haven’t changed your mind?”

In some ways, he felt like he was repeating himself, that all he was doing was continuously reassuring Tate. But maybe that’s what was required until Tate became more comfortable with their relationship.

Not too comfortable.

“Remember, this isn’t anything I can discuss with Lenny and Mitch. They can understand up to a point, but their relationship with Cam wasn’t the same as mine. And I’m sure as hell not going to discuss it with my buddies on the force.”

“You’re not? You said if I confessed anything, you’d have to tell them.” He gave a small shrug. “I kinda figured you’d keep filling them in on what we discussed overall. I’ve got nothing to hide, so I didn’t care about that.” He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the water bottle. “All I care about is having someone to talk to.”

Rogan winced. All along Tate had assumed what they’d shared wasn’t private, yet his need for human interaction was so strong he’d pushed that aspect of their friendship aside.

“I’m here for you to talk to, I reiterate that promise. I won’t leave you alone.” Rogan leaned forward. “I also want to be clear about something else. I’m not saying a fucking thing to them. Yeah, if you tell me you were involved somehow, I’d tell them in a hot second. But what you and I share? Our feelings, our lives? That’s sacred.” Rogan made the same gesture between them that Tate had earlier. “For our ears only.”

Tate’s body relaxed, his shoulders no longer tense and jaw no longer clenched. “That’s…” He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his bow-shaped lips. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“With one exception.” Rogan regretted his words once Tate’s features fell and his body went rigid. “I want to know why the fuck they brushed you off today, what their problem is. You were under a threat and they had no right to treat you that way.”

In reality, he knew the investigators didn’t owe Tate a damn thing, but he didn’t care. He was still pissed off.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. And they’ll know we’ve been talking.”

Rogan sighed. He hadn’t wanted to get into this much depth regarding Sullivan and his relationship with him.

---