Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway:
Rescue Me, Daddy
By Michael Robert
TIM MILLER
My life in Valentine, Nebraska, wasn’t easy. At just nineteen, I found myself homeless and jobless with no prospects on the horizon. A life of abuse crushed people, but I still had space in my heart for love. With the support and guidance of an elderly widower, my life finally began to turn around.
Being young and gay in a small town brought challenges but I had goals for my life, one of which was to be loved. The arrival of a world famous author to our small community turned my world upside down. What did I have to offer a man like Davis? I have nothing but my heart. I hope it’s enough.
DAVIS HILL
After the end of my five-year relationship in Malibu, I was desperate for change. Even though my career was successful, I could still use an infusion of ideas for my next book. So I did the unthinkable and decided to randomly stick a pin in a map and relocate. My friends may have labeled me insane, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. A fresh start in a new town offered the chance to distract myself while I heal from the pain of a failed relationship.
Coming to the rescue of Tim on the very first day we met, was the beginning of one story I hadn’t expected. I had relocated to find a great story, but hadn’t expected to discover my own love story. Could a small town in the middle of nowhere offer a new beginning for both my heart and my career? Little did I know that small towns could have dark secrets that could threaten to shatter my heart.
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PROLOGUE: Tim
“Sorry to wake you, Mr. Hanks,” I said, standing on the front porch of his old farmhouse. I turned toward where I lived several hundred yards away on the other side of the graveled country road. He glanced that way as well, knowing where I’d come from and why.
His pinched face said it all. “What’d you do this time, boy?”
I glanced toward my house again, shivering from the bone chilling temps. “Left the bathroom light on, sir.”
It was nearly zero degrees outside and I’d been thrown out by my stepdad. I was only wearingpajama bottoms, threadbare socks, and a holey Garth Brooks T-shirt I’d purchased for a dime at the local secondhand store. I’d also managed to grab a pair of rubber boots I kept in the mudroom but hadn’t had time to snatch my coat before I felt my stepdad’s foot on my backside when he literally kicked me out the door.
“Come inside, son. You’re gonna catch your death out there.”
“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, my breath visible in the cold. “I’m really sorry, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go, Mr. Hanks.”
“And your momma?”
“He’s leaving her alone tonight, sir.”
“OK, then. I guess there’s no need for my shotgun,” he said, stepping aside for me to enter his kitchen.“I swear,” he muttered, shuffling behind me as I made my way to the kitchen table, rubbing my arms to create warmth. “You hungry, boy?” Five seconds went by without me answering him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I sat down at a table I’d become fairly acquainted with since I’d turned eighteen a year and a month ago. I watched as Mr. Hanks used his hand and scooped bacon grease out of an old coffee can his wife had set by the stove some forty years ago.
“Eggs and fried biscuits okay, son?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I responded, happy for whatever he had to offer.
“You eat today, boy?” he asked, turning to me after breaking four eggs into the old cast iron frying pan. The sizzling heat caused grease splatter to shoot from the pan. The smell of bacon wafted through the kitchen’s air even though there wasn’t any in the pan, but the taste would be amazing, nonetheless. “And I’ll take that answer as a no.”
“I was busy, sir,” I lied. “I guess I forgot.”
“I guess you did,” he agreed, but I could tell he knew otherwise. This wasn’t our first late night meal. Mr. Hanks knew my backstory well. He sliced two biscuits in half and placed them face down in the pan after sliding the eggs out of the way.
“What were you so busy doin’ in this weather you’d forget to eat somethin’, son?” he asked. “Not much goin’ on at your farm is there?”
He leaned over my right shoulder and placed a plate of food in front of me. I felt his finger brush across the back of my neck and he tugged on the collar of my frayed T-shirt from behind me. “Harold had me sortin’ the barn out, sir,” I answered, squirming in my chair because I knew what Mr. Hanks was looking for. Harold was my stepdad.
“And where exactly did you get these marks?” he asked, stretching the thin fabric down from the back of my neck. I was silent after his question and he was having nothing of it. I was afraid to start eating, wondering what he was thinking of his discovery. “Do me a favor, Timmy, and stand up for me,” he urged, tapping my shoulder.
I reached for the back of my T-shirt’s collar but he intercepted me and held my hand gently. “It’s nothin’, sir,” I lied again. I hated that I kept lying to the only person who seemed to care about me.
“Let me decide that, son,” he stated. “Now please stand up and take your shirt off for me.”
I stared at the plate of eggs and biscuits, my stomach exhorting me to dig in. I was hungry like most days lately and hoped he’d still let me eat when he found out I’d lied to him. I shuffled to my feet and stood staring at the food, tears fell from myeyes which I tried hard to stifle. I knew very well what crying led to at home but the pain that resided inside me overpowered my ability to stop the tears. I needed something more than crying as a defense and I’d yet to find what that was.
“I fell off the ladder headin’ up to the hay loft,” I explained nervously as I began to lift the shirt up. “I’m clumsy like that sometimes,” I mumbled.
He pulled my shirt the rest of the way over my head, shaking his head slowly from side to side, frowning. “You’re just gonna keep lyin’ for him, ain’t ya?” Mr. Hanks asked.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “He’s been better lately.”
“Better’n what?” he asked. “He’s whippin’ you again, boy, and that ain’t better.”
“He’ll sober up tomorrow and then he’ll be better,” I defended, almost believing the lie.
“Oh, trust me, boy. He’ll be better all right, but it won’t be tomorrow. That’s a fact. Now you sit here and eat your food,” he said. “I’ll be gettin’ my shotgun so I can pay your stepdaddy a visit, and I ain’t waitin’ for him to sober up.”
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About the Author
Michael Robert is an author residing in Seattle, Washington. The Crow Flies Free is his debut novel. Michael enjoys traveling and he aspires to visit the locations of his upcoming novels so as to provide vivid and accurate descriptions of them. He enjoys tennis, road trips and fast cars. Please look for his future projects, the next story coming soon.
Connect with Michael:
https://linktr.ee/AuthorMichaelRobert
