by Zimmerman, L
Of course, that confidence must have been the exact reason that everything went to shit just a few hours later.
Chapter 4
The second that Elliot pulled into the garage, Grant hopped onto the intercom to ask him to come into the office. Clayton was in there, working on Grant's jeep and most likely talking to Elliot’s father, Mike, who a raging back of dicks. The guy was a decent driver, but he was an awful father that harassed Elliot constantly when he made mistakes, so Grant went out of his way to try and contact Elliot properly whenever there was any miscommunication.
It was partially because Grant didn’t want to hear Mike’s snide commentary, lest he go on a baby-punching rampage, and partially because his words were often cruel and biting. No child should hear that from their father; especially in front of coworkers. It made Grant appreciate his own dad, because his dad was fucking awesome, okay.
When the door opened and Elliot came in with his father hot on his trail, Grant held back the burning desire to just grab the phone and chuck it at the man’s head. Instead, he gave Elliot a placating grin and snagged his pen. Elliot was a nice guy; just a couple years older than Grant, with a little pudge to him and a perpetual sunburn that made his brown eyes seem even darker. He had short, unkempt hair that was bleached into a light brown from hours in the sun, and broad hands that shook too much when he got overwhelmed.
“Hey, dude, what were your miles on that tire change? I think you were mumbling ‘cause it was hard to hear you.”
Elliot opened his mouth to list the miles, but Mike was already jumping on the opportunity, coming up behind his son and slapping him on the back. It didn’t sound affectionate, it actually sounded pretty painful. Mike shot Grant a grin, roughly holding Elliot’s shoulder and shaking him.
“Aw, don’t blame him. I bet his mouth’s sore from sucking too much dick. Boy needs to learn to speak up, huh?” Mike laughed, and Elliot’s expression took on a look of miserable humiliation.
Grant's had never been so infuriated in his entire life. Seriously, what the hell. How was that even work-appropriate. Actually, how was that appropriate in any context to talk about your son like that? Did this guy take his cues from Rush Limbaugh or something?
It wasn’t really Grant's fault that his brain-to-mouth filter completely malfunctioned.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you just make a derogatory comment about your son in reference to a sexual situation that should not be implicated as insulting?” he threw his arms out, gesturing to Elliot and watching Mike start to tense in preparation for an argument. “You didn’t? Because what I heard was you talking some bad mojo about your kid and about what he does with his life.”
Elliot’s eyes went wider than Mike’s--which was a feat on it’s own.
“Excuse me, son?” Mike breathed incredulously, his hand falling from Elliot’s shoulder. It would have been intimidating, but Grant was a) on a roll and b) in an office with cameras, which meant that only an idiot would actually go Tarzan apeshit on someone.
Grant shrugged flippantly, bouncing his pen between his fingers. “I’m sorry, maybe you couldn’t hear me over the sound of your own ignorance.”
Jesus Christ, he was going to get his own ass fired for this.
Mike shoved Elliot out of the way, advancing for the desk so quickly that Grant jumped to his feet and knocked his chair over. Elliot lurched forward, grabbing his father’s arm to try and pull him back. It had the opposite effect when Mike whirled around and snapped his fist right into Elliot’s cheek, knocking him to the ground.
Holy mother of Mary. He actually was an idiot.
“Woah!” Grant cried, lunging past Mike to get to Elliot. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Are you a Neanderthal? You don’t. Hit. Your son!”
Advancing on the two younger men, Mike’s finger came out to jab into Grant's chest. “You don’t tell me what to do with my kid,” his finger was actually more like a javelin of fury, hitting Grant right in the sternum and making him want to uppercut the guy.
Grant stiffened, positioning his body completely in front of Elliot’s fallen one and trying to make himself look like he wasn’t utterly petrified and running on adrenaline. “You know what? Get the fuck out of this office. You don’t work here anymore, and don’t think --”
He cut himself off with a startled yelp when Mike grabbed on to the front of his shirt, whirling the both of them around and slamming Grant up against the vending machine--which was an old ass piece of shit made of nothing but metal and some plexiglass windows.
His head now knew this from personal experience.
Grant struggled, shoving at Mike when he was shaken and bashed into the machine a second time.
“You’re just some punkass kid who works weekends here!” Mike snarled, pushing and pushing until Grant was terrified that his chest was going to cave in from the sheer pressure. “You don’t know shit about how to raise a kid!”
It was like he was channeling his father in that moment, anger increased tenfold at the idea that someone would ever hurt their child. “I know you don’t hurt them and humiliate them!” Grant cried, gasping for air and flailing his legs out. No matter how hard he fought back, thought, Grant couldn’t get free. The man was like a fucking juggernaut, shoving forward and never moving back no matter how much Grant pushed and kicked at him. Mike may have been thin, but he was nothing but wiry muscle from years of hauling cars for a living.
“Dad!” Elliot screamed, face blotching around the welt blossoming on his cheek. He looked completely terrified, tears filling his eyes with each passing second. Grant felt kind of bad, in a way, because Elliot didn‘t deserve to see any of this happening. Elliot didn‘t deserve any of this, period. Not when he was crying, “dad, let him go!” as if frightened that Grant's life might actually be in danger.
“You shut the fuck up!” Mike roared, not even looking away from where he was staring into Grant's face as if he could murder him by sheer will alone. Grant choked, hands coming to try and pry Mike’s fingers from his shirt when he saw the front door fling open in the corner of his eye.
Grant had never been happier to see Clayton in his entire life, even if Clayton looked utterly livid. The only thing that could have made this better was if he was wearing less clothes and his entrance had been introduced with a vicious rock ballad. He was up behind Mike in a heartbeat, hand snagging the back of the other driver’s collar and wrenching him off of Grant. Mike didn’t let go of Grant right away, dragging him forward until Clayton could get between them and shove them apart.
“Get the fuck out,” Clayton barked, positioning himself between Grant and Mike. Elliot’s father looked thrown for a moment, pointing at Grant and opening his mouth to protest when Clayton’s minimal patience snapped. “I said get the FUCK out!” Clayton grabbed the front of Mike’s uniform, bodily hauling the man towards the door, jerking it open and shoving him outside.
“Go stick your head in the sink and cool off before you start looking for a new job!” Clayton snarled, shutting the door as quickly as he could and snapping the deadbolt lock on it.
Grant couldn’t seem to find the energy in himself to stand up from where he’d been tossed to the ground, because seriously--what the hell just happened? Was he high? Was he on acid? If he was on acid, he was tripping balls.
Grant wasn’t really sure when Clayton had crouched in front of him, it probably didn’t help that his head was ringing so loud that it was deafening, and his chest was aching like a bitch.
“Hey. Hey--look at me,” Clayton said softly, and wow, his hand was on Grant's chin. This would have been awesome in any other context except Grant was having trouble processing what had just happened. It was like his memories were on a repetitive loop of the past three minutes.
“Grant. Look. At. Me,” this time, Clayton’s voice was firmer, something unreadable in the edge of how he spoke.Grant hadn’t stopped staring at the door. He flicked his eyes to lock with Clayton’s, startl
ed to see that he looked genuinely concerned.
“Grant, did he hurt you?”
Grant's brain hadn’t seemed to actually come back online until Clayton was looked like he was close to grabbing Grant's head and shaking him like a rag doll. The computer gave a loud honk as a call came in, the sound shooting straight through Grant and jerking him out of the shock he’d settled into. Everything hit him with a startling clarity, and Grant tensed up as a hysterical rage welled up inside of him.
“No!” he shrieked, shaking his head and sucking in a breath of air. “I mean, YEAH. A little! But no! Ohmygod. What--what a fucking DICK! Seriously,” Grant's body started trembling, his lungs constricting as he started to gesture wildly, “did--did you SEE that shit? Wha--he fucking HIT Elliot! I’m… I’m so mad. I’m so mad I--I can’t stop shaking.”
Grant brought his hands up, shoving them in Clayton’s face to show him the way they couldn’t stop trembling.
Clayton released a soft sigh, reaching out and taking Grant's hands for a second. “You’re fine, Grant,” he set Grant's hands back into his lap, palm coming up and squeezing his arm before running down it in a soothing pet. “Just sit tight, I need to check on Elliot, okay?”
“Yeah…” Grant replied faintly, slumping just the tiniest bit. He’d had his fair share of assholes, of people getting their kicks out of knocking him around, but he’d never seen so much hatred in a man’s eyes before. It was more terrifying than being on the internet at stupid in the morning and coming across that traumatizing flashing gif of the crazy inverted ghost chick with the screaming background noise.
Grant pressed his hands together, rubbing them to try and coax the trembling to a minimum. He could hear Clayton talking to Elliot in that same calming voice. The phone was ringing, but Grant legitimately did not feel like answering it to talk to any one about any thing.
“I’m fine,” Elliot said shakily, “I’m fine. I’m… I’m sorry about my dad--I’m really sorry.”
Glancing up, Grant watched Clayton sigh and stand, carding a hand through his hair. “Neither of you two are fine. I’m calling the manager, and then I’m calling the police. Your dad’s stupidity just got himself arrested.” Clayton’s voice was a low, frustrated growl, which only turned into a snarl and curse when he glanced out the window to see Mike peeling out of the garage in his car, tow truck left abandoned on the lot.
Absently, Grant watched the car disappear down the road. Seriously? Grant's dad was a cop, did the guy honestly think he was going to get away with this?
“Clayton, you can’t--” Elliot cried softly.
Grant watched Clayton turn to Elliot, face clouding over in anger. “It isn’t up to you, Elliot. Did you miss the part where your dad was trying to strangle Grant? I don’t give a rat’s ass about that son of a bitch; he’d have attacked me if he had the chance,” Clayton looked over at Grant, which really made Grant wish that he wasn’t still sitting on the floor like some sort of helpless damsel, because he suddenly had a pair of strong, warm hands cupping his elbows and helping him to his feet.
Lightheaded, Grant took a second to gather himself, and pushed past Clayton to circle the office. He was still way too freaked out to deal with customers, or insurance companies, or truck drivers. Actually, he didn‘t feel like dealing with anything.
He flapped his arms up and down for a second, trying to work out the excess adrenaline built up inside of him--it was something he did sometimes after panic attacks, too--and then brushed by Clayton to go to his desk. Elliot was hovering in the corner of the room, face swollen and looking miserable.
Grant righted his chair, sat down, exhaled slowly, and then grabbed the mouse to dispatch the call that had come in. He could feel the other two watching him, and yeah--he should say something….
Right now, though, he didn’t feel like initiating some deep, emotional conversation about what had just occurred. Clayton approached the desk, eyes on Grant for a second before he grabbed the phone and turned it to face himself.
He called the owner, first, who was a man Grant had only met a small handful of times. The guy was a hermit who lived in his giant mobile home behind the office and only came out randomly to scare the shit out of Grant by suddenly appearing from the back office to grab the newspaper. Grant tuned out of the conversation, dispatching the call and then paging Billy on the radio to send him on the run.
Clayton called the manager next, a grouchy man named Robert Tucker, retelling the story and then hanging up to call the police. Elliot was pressed up against the wall, sniffing and shaking and trying to keep himself together. Grant kind of wanted to hug the guy, he looked like his entire world had just ended, but he really didn’t know if it was a good idea to get all touchy-feely right now.
When Clayton hung up, he sighed through his nose and took a second to gather his thoughts. “The cops are out looking for your dad. John says you can go home, but I think it’s best if you went somewhere else. Do you have any friends you could stay with?”
“No,” Elliot choked, shaking his head, “not really.”
Another sigh left Clayton, mind wracking for ideas. Grant was on the verge of offering for Elliot to stay at his house when Clayton spoke first.
“You can crash with me until the cops find your dad," he said it so easily that Grant couldn’t help but jerk his head up to stare at him, even though Clayton was busy watching Elliot for his response. He was so open with Elliot, so friendly that it made Grant worry that all the time he missed--the time Elliot spent hanging out with Clayton in the garage--meant that he really had no chance at all against someone else. Elliot was quiet, like Clayton, but kind and softspoken. He mumbled a lot, took a while on tire changes and things like that, but Grant could see how it would be endearing.
Much more endearing than someone who talked too much and didn’t know when to stop.
“Okay,” Elliot said quietly, digging the heel of his palm into his eye and rubbing. “Okay…”
“Go ahead and get in your truck, I’ll be out in a minute.”
Elliot shuffled out of the room, leaving Clayton alone with Grant.
“I want to go after him,” Clayton announced the instant the door was shut. Grant glanced up from his paperwork, eyebrows rising. “I want him to get more than just an assault charge. He’s fucked that kid up, and he nee-”
“I know,” Grant interrupted quietly, clicking his pen a few times, “I do too. We can all testify, dude. Every one of us has seen him hit Elliot. My dad is a cop, anyway, so y’know, I’m pretty sure I might be able to get Mike thrown in jail for a while.”
For a long moment, Clayton just stared at Grant, as if he was observing some new species of animal. Grant felt nervous and jittery under his scrutiny, and he had to break eye contact to shrug and look away.
“I‘ll hold you to that,” Clayton said. Grant gave him a crooked grin, saluting with two fingers.
“Scout‘s honor,” he said seriously, tapping his fingers to his forehead.
Snorting, Clayton back to the door and snorted, “you? In boy scouts? Bullshit,” he scoffed, shaking his head and muttering under his breath before heading out the door.
Grant stared down at his paperwork, counting the number of runs and deciding it would be better to wait until the other drivers were needed before calling them. It lowered the risk of people verbally abusing him over the phone.
Fuck. They were down three drivers for the next hour or so, and after that, they’d still be down two. Grant only had Billy until Clayton got back. He reached for the phone to try and call Jeff--just to be on the safe side--when the phone rang.
Grant answered it quickly, stiffening at the sound of their manager on the other line.
“Geo-notty! I watched the damn tape. You mind telling’ me what the hell you were thinking, talking back like that?” The sound of smacking gum was loud through the ear piece, and Grant winced internally.
“Uh, sir, I was very upset. Slandering anyone is against company policy.”
“Huh…” A longer silence, more gum being chewed, and then a snort. “Guy was a shitheel anyway; knew I hired you for a reason, Geo. Keep up the good work--don’t give Clayton any reward sex in the office. Keep that shit in the bedroom.”
Grant literally choked on air, stammering uselessly for a second. “I--w h a t.”
“I’ve seen the tapes, Geo. I swear, the sexual tension between you? I’d need a chainsaw to cut through that shit. Now get back to work.”
The line went dead and Grant temporarily wondered how many times a person could go into shock in one day before their brain finally gave up and vegetated itself. He set the phone back in the cradle, absently writing down the time on the dispatch sheet when Billy informed him that he was done with his current run.
