Take It Slow.

by AKM Miles.

This book is dedicated to my good friend, beta, advisor, and confidant, Jan.

You know all you do for me. You're my Deva Deva.

And, as always, to the fans. Thank you so much. Thank you so much.

Chapter One.

"You better get in here, boy!"

Oh, s.h.i.t. Daniel hurried, an image in his mind of a cartoon-figure Daniel walking backwards as his forward momentum took him closer and closer to h.e.l.l.

How had his life come to this? Daniel lived in fear every day. He was dirty, hungry, and exhausted from lack of sleep and physical labor. In a little over two years' time he'd gone from privileged to pathetic. If tears wouldn't show weakness, which he could not do around Jack, he'd give in to them. But he'd stopped doing that a long time ago.

"You get the ch.o.r.es done? I want supper. Get in there, and it better not get burnt again, you hear me?"

This was followed by a slap, hard, on the back of the head. Daniel wondered if he still had the brains he'd been proud of when he left home so long ago. Half of them had probably been smashed or rattled into oblivion by now.

"Yes, sir. Bacon and beans all right?" he asked, trying to get by Jack without touching him, which was getting harder to do every time he pa.s.sed him lately. He knew why, and that knowledge had his nerves on edge and a Take It Slow Take It Slow 3.duffle packed at all times, just looking for a chance to get away. Some chance. Jack Basham watched him like a hawk.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Jack staring at him, not even trying to hide the fact that his hand was on his d.i.c.k, rubbing, his eyes hot, l.u.s.t-filled. Daniel shivered as he moved faster, getting the food ready. He doubted he'd be eating again tonight. There was no way he was sitting down with Jack and when he didn't, Jack got mad and locked him in his room. Daniel snuck a couple of bites as he cooked, setting the table and edging toward the door.

"Where you goin', boy? You ain't hungry? You're wastin' away to nothin'. You're gonna get to where you're not even pretty anymore." Jack moved toward him, and Daniel tried to sidle past him, but Jack caught his arm, big hands squeezing hard, bruising, hurting.

Daniel sucked in a breath and said, "I don't feel good.

I want to go to my room, sir." He never forgot to tack on the "sir". He'd learned that early on.

"Go on, then, you little wimp. Always somethin'.

When you gonna be eighteen? Tell me the truth now,"

Jack said, the frown marring his brow intense.

"In, in seven months, sir." Daniel shuddered as he told the lie, knowing why Jack wanted the information.

Daniel fled, closing and locking his door, ignoring the angry muttering from the kitchen. Daniel took the threadbare dull green blanket from the bed, wrapped up, and waited for his shivering to stop. He put his back to the door and slid to the floor, his stomach in knots. Pain ripped through him and he wondered again if he suffered from ulcers. Why not? Gee, could it be stress? As it often did, his mind took a break from reality and went back in time, kind of like a slow motion reel from a movie.

4.***

Seventeen-year-old Daniel Webster hurried into the house after parking his new Lexus beside his dad's car in the garage. The car had been a gift from his dad when Daniel turned sixteen last year. He was a little nervous, but ready for the coming talk he planned to have with his father. Nick Webster was Daniel's idol as well as his father. Daniel's mother was gone, long ago, and it had been the two of them against the world. They did everything together. Daniel had gone to work with his father and Nick, had attended school events with him.

They both enjoyed Tennessee sports teams and had season tickets to both football and basketball games.

Daniel had been thinking about the upcoming conversation for months and was finally ready to share his dreams with his dad. He figured that finding out his son was gay wasn't going to be easy for Nick, but they'd always had an open relationship, able to talk about anything. He wasn't worried about Nick being angry, but he would would be dashing any hopes the man had of continuing the family name. be dashing any hopes the man had of continuing the family name.

"Hey, Daniel, you hungry? I thought we'd order in tonight," Nick said, as Daniel came into the den. "You feel like Chinese, pizza, or Italian? I'm easy. How was school?"

"School was fine. Anything sounds fine for supper.

Dad, can we talk? I've got something I want to tell you."

Daniel dropped down onto the couch that was opposite the burgundy wingback chair that Nick sat in, a folder from work on his lap.

"Sure, son. You want me to order first?"

"Nah, I'm not really hungry right now," Daniel said.

5."That's a change. What's up, Daniel? Is everything all right?" Nick looked just a little concerned.

"I've been wanting to tell you this for a while now, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything. Dad, I'm gay." Daniel waited for a response from his father.

None came. Okay, he'd go a little further.

"I haven't really done anything, but there's this guy at school and I really like him. I wanted you to know. I didn't feel right keeping it secret. I think I'm..."

That's as far as Daniel got.

"You think you're what? My son's gay? No way in h.e.l.l!" Nick stood up, the folder falling at his feet and papers scattering over the Oriental rug.

"Dad?" There was shock and a little fear in the word.

He really hadn't expected anger. Maybe that made him foolish, but he'd thought his dad loved him no matter what.

"How could you pull something like this? How am I supposed to hold my head up in society with a f.a.ggot for a son? Son! h.e.l.l, you're no son of mine!" Nick walked out of the room, leaving a stunned Daniel behind.

Daniel didn't even realize that tears were streaming down his face. This couldn't be happening. Of all people, he would have sworn that his father would have stood beside him, understood, or at least tried to. Daniel was used to Nick accepting differences in people and not being closed off, a sn.o.b, a bigot.

His father had just denied him as a son. How could that be? Daniel knew that Nick Webster meant every word, too. What was he to do now?

Stunned, Daniel stood and walked out the front door, down the long sidewalk to the street and began walking.

He had no destination in mind; he was just leaving. He couldn't face his dad, couldn't look at him, hear him say anything else that would cut him any deeper. Was there Take It Slow 6.anything that could hurt worse than "You're no son of mine!"?

Nick Webster pulled into the parking lot of the Southern Georgia Travel Plaza and sighed deeply. His heart had been in his throat all the way from Nashville to Valdosta. After talking with his friend Easy, a trucker, on the phone yesterday, he'd been in a mixed state of terror and antic.i.p.ation. He'd lived in a state of suspended animation for the last two years. Most people didn't know that he'd been existing on auto-pilot, but since that evening that seemed so long ago, the night he'd blown his world apart, everything he'd done had been with the hope of finding his son.

Daniel Webster. Nick's hands shook as he thought about the beautiful boy who had been the light of his life for seventeen years. And then he'd blown it. Nick accepted the blame for the pain he'd lived in since that night. Sitting in the car, he thought back to the night that was his shame.

Nick could not say to this day what had happened to his brain, his heart, and his mouth that night. It was like someone else had taken over all three, like he'd been possessed by someone totally alien to the Nick Webster he thought he was.

Daniel had, with the self a.s.surance that comes with knowing that he's loved and cherished by his father, admitted to Nick that he was gay. Before Daniel could finish saying that he'd not acted on the knowledge, but that there was a boy he was interested in at school, Nick had lost his mind.

Honestly, he couldn't even remember all that he'd said to Daniel. The one thing that was clear in his mind Take It Slow 7.was the look on Daniel's face when he'd said, "You're no son of mine." What the h.e.l.l? He'd said other hurtful things, none of them making any sense, and that really weren't indicative of the way he really felt. He'd been in shock and lashing out. Standing there, before he walked out of the den, he had shook with anger.

Nick didn't know how long he'd stood in his room before, like a light flipping on, he snapped out of whatever seemed to have hold of him and realized that he'd heard the front door slam a while ago.

"What have I done? Where did that s.h.i.t come from?

Daniel!" Nick yelled for his son as he ran for the door, hoping that Daniel was outside, wondering the same thing. He hurried out and saw that Daniel's car was still there. Relief washed over him. Thank G.o.d; he'd be able to talk to Daniel and make it right. Daniel was his son, and since his wife had died when Daniel was little, it had been the two of them in a solid relationship. He could handle anything as long as he had Daniel.

Searching and calling for Daniel gained him nothing but an increasing sense of fear. Where had Daniel gone?

Their home was old and in a part of town that was known for wealth. Over the years, the area a few blocks away had been building up with more and more commercial buildings. Nick had been back inside and back out, his heart beating out of his chest as more and more time went by with no sign of Daniel.

It had been that way for two whole years. During that time Nick had done everything he could think of to find his son and bring him home. A legion of private detectives had been unsuccessful, as had every attempt he had made on his own so far. His latest efforts had led him to this small truck stop, Mama Sasy's. Thank G.o.d.

8.Daniel pressed his hand to his mouth to stop the sob that threatened to erupt. He couldn't let it out, for so many reasons. He couldn't give in to the desperation, the fear, the grief. Most of all, he couldn't let Jack hear him crying. If Jack thought he could have one more thing to hold over Daniel's head, he'd make Daniel's life even more miserable.

Not willing to think about some of the things that had happened when he'd first left home, he let his mind do a fast forward past the night in the shelter and the fears he'd experienced. Daniel had been on a field trip with the school and seen the homeless shelter. It wasn't too far from where he lived, and he'd been lucky enough to get a bed for the night.

Their house was in an old section of town. The commercial area had grown up around them, but the whole subdivision was filled with beautiful houses and landscaping. Not too far away, though, there were businesses and a little further than that, there was a low-income part of the city. This was where the shelter was located, and Daniel had remembered thinking at the time that it was awfully close to his home.

His mind zipped past the first night when he lay sleepless, hopeless, stunned, and heartbroken on a cot.

The thought of going back didn't even occur to him. His father's hate-filled words were final, as far as he was concerned. That the man he loved and adored could even say those things -- well, Daniel had no doubt he meant them. The one thing that his father always said, that resonated with Daniel right then, was that he never said anything he didn't mean. So no, going back home wasn't an option.

Scenes flew past his mind's eye in a kaleidoscope.

The thug who'd approached him with a demand for Take It Slow 9.money. Daniel had seventy-three dollars in his shoe and he was scared to death the man would beat him up and find it. Again, he ran and was faster than the threat. He was running in a section of town he was unfamiliar with and found that he had left safety for danger. Trucks, big ones, were lined up at a dock and there was shouting and movement, chaos. Daniel turned to leave and ran into two men who grabbed him.

Actually, he'd been lucky that time. The men had been traveling together in one of the trucks and asked if he needed a ride. He knew better than that. Shaking his head in the negative, he tried to pull away from them.

He pushed against one of them, forcing him into the other and for a moment he was free. He ran as fast as he could and managed to hide in an alley. After standing for what seemed like forever without seeing them, he edged back out and walked away. He was hungry and didn't know what to do.

Daniel had friends, but none that his dad didn't know about. He didn't want to go to them and find out that his dad hadn't even tried to find him. Was he looking? Did he care? Daniel could not wrap his head around the fact that his father might not be missing him as much as he missed his dad.

Grief and hunger had him walking into a small diner that was full of large men who looked up as he stood in the doorway. He kept his head down as he went to the counter. He asked for a BLT and water. He'd have to go to the restroom to get some money out of his shoe so he told the gray-haired woman behind the counter that he'd be back in a second. When he got to the bathroom he headed for a stall, but before he could get there, he was grabbed from behind. He felt a hand in his hip pocket and knew that his wallet had been taken. d.a.m.n. At least his money wasn't in it.

10.An arm came across his front and pulled up under his chin. He felt something, a knife or gun, he wasn't sure which, sticking into his side. He struggled and tried to twist out of the arms holding him.

"Where is it? Your money? Give it over," said a rough voice behind his head. The smell coming off the man behind him was horrible.

He tried to bluff it out. "I don't have any, really. A couple of dollars for a sandwich. Let me go, please."

"Bulls.h.i.t. Those are good clothes and that means you got money." There was a sudden pain in his side, and he realized that it was a knife and he'd been cut.

He tried to yell, but before he'd gotten more than a squeak out the hand on his neck moved up and covered his mouth. The smell was now unbearable.

"You ready to die, rich boy? I can make that happen in about two seconds. Don't matter none to me. Where's the money?" The knife pushed further in, and Daniel could feel blood running down his side now. Was it worth his life?

"Shoe. Left shoe." Daniel managed the mutter around the dirty, smelly fingers that still covered his mouth.

The man threw him down and grabbed his shoe and jerked it off. The bills that had been in his wallet before he went to bed at the shelter were gone in seconds. He heard the snick of the knife going back into its sleeve, and to top off the experience, the man drew back and kicked him, hard, in the ribs.

"That's for lying. You better get back to where you came from. You ain't gonna make it down here." With those words of wisdom, the man was gone and Daniel lay there, trying to breathe without it hurting. He wondered how bad the knife wound was. He didn't know how long he was there before two men came in and Take It Slow 11.when they saw him they hurried over to him. He drew back in fear.

"Hey. It's okay. We won't hurt you. What happened?"

One man was looking at his side where his shirt was covered in blood and the other was putting his shoe back on his foot. He thought that was very strange, to be lying on a public bathroom floor and having a stranger put his shoe on him.

"Robbed, stabbed, kicked," he moaned.

"Man, you're not having a very good day, are you, son?"

At the word "son", Daniel looked at the men. It was the two that he'd gotten away from before. They were both older and their hands on him were gentle.

"They took all I had. He cut me. I don't know what to do. I don't have anything now." How true that was.

"Listen, don't look so panicked. We didn't follow you here. We eat here whenever we're in town. We'll get you something to eat and can talk about what you need to do.

My name's Tony, and that's Randall." The man talking pointed to the other man, who nodded at him. "The cut isn't bad. Randall, get some wet towels and I bet we can get the bleeding stopped."

Randall got some of the brown paper towels and wet them at the sink, bringing them back to Tony. Daniel sat up, with their help, and pulled his shirt up enough for them to clean the wound. Both men looked relieved, so Daniel figured he'd live. They helped him stand up and he gasped at the pain in his ribs.

"Hurts."

"Let me see. Come on, son, I'm not after your body, nice as it is. Randall's enough for me. Let's see what damage was done to your ribs. When we saw that guy hotfooting it out of here, we were afraid he'd been up to no good."

12.Daniel resignedly pulled his shirt up and flinched when Tony's hand pressed gently into his ribs up and down his side, checking on how much trauma was there.

"I don't think they broke any, but it's gonna hurt to breathe for a while. Come on, we'll get you something to eat and you can tell us what you're running from." At Daniel's shake of his head, Tony said, "Oh, don't worry, we're not going to turn you in or make you go back to whatever it is, but we need to know if there's some way we can help."

"Why would you? Seems like everybody else I've run into wants something." Daniel wasn't ready to trust anyone, but these two had been nicer than anyone else and he was tired, hungry, and scared out of his wits.

When they left the bathroom, the waitress was at the counter with his sandwich. Tony told her, "Add an order of fries and a big chocolate shake to that, Myrna. We're paying for the boy."

Myrna turned to yell the order through the window for the fries and headed over to a machine to make the shake.

"Th-thank you." Daniel barely managed the words as the severity of his situation hit him. What was he going to do? Where was he to go? He could not, would not go home. It was like the bottom had been pulled from his world and he was free-falling. Nothing made sense without his dad there.

"So, you're running away from something. That's clear. You don't have to tell us what it is, but will you tell us your name?" Randall asked.