Unbreak Him

by Sam E. Kraemer

  The scene he was met with wasn't lovely at all. Grant Cummings was obviously having some sort of a breakdown, yet again, if kneeling on the floor with his forehead touching the carpet while sobbing uncontrollably was any indication. Kyle quickly closed and locked the door.

  He placed the food on the table off to the side and walked over to where the man was in distress, kneeling next to him. "Grant, what happened?" he asked as he gently placed his hand on the man's back. He could feel a thick shirt under his dress shirt, which puzzled him. As his hand moved up and down the man's back, Grant cried harder.

  Kyle lifted him up and led him to his desk chair, handing him some tissues from the credenza. Grant Cummings was a mess, and they needed to work on the account Timmons had assigned to them, so Kyle took a deep breath and went with his gut.

  "You need to go into the bathroom, wash your face, and formulate an answer for me regarding why you're behaving in such a fashion. Who were you talking with on the phone?" Kyle pressed in a strong, low voice.

  Grant looked up at him with tears and snot running down his face, biting his lip and shaking his head.

  "No! That's not acceptable. Go clean up and come back out here. I'm entitled to know what the fuck is going on if I'm to work with you," he snapped with authority he didn't really feel, but it seemed to get the smaller blond man's attention.

  "Yes, yes… of course. I’ll just be a moment, please," Grant responded before leaving the room.

  Kyle felt sticky in his wet, worsted-wool slacks, which were losing their crease. If he could only take them off and let them rest somewhere in the creased position, they'd get their body back. He paced the office and continued to fan them away from his legs.

  When Grant finally returned, he appeared to be a bit more collected. Kyle asked, "Do you have any workout gear here at the office? I realize I'm taller than you and larger, but if you have some sweats or something, I'd like to borrow them. I got caught in the rain, and I don't want my pants ruined."

  "Oh, um, yes, of course. I have some sweats that should work, though they'll be a bit short. I have a steamer in my dressing room. You can hang them up on the rack. Come with me," Grant stated, looking a bit nervous.

  "Perfect. Lead the way," Kyle told him as he followed the blond to the private bathroom. Grant handed him the sweats, so Kyle undressed down to his t-shirt and boxers. He took off his socks and hung them over a heated towel rack next to the shower.

  As he hung his dress shirt on a hanger, he turned to Grant. "If this relationship is going to work, you need to come clean with me," he ordered, neglecting the knotted ball of guilt in his gut.

  He had shit he needed to come clean about as well, but he wasn't a crumbling mess like Grant Cummings. Kyle's future depended on Grant getting himself on the right track, for sure.

  Kyle pulled the sweats up to his waist before pulling the bottoms up to his knees. They hit him at an unnatural point on his calves, which was uncomfortable. After he had his clothes situated, he walked out of the bathroom with Grant following behind him.

  "Sit down, and let's eat. We need to get on the same page for the meeting with Mr. Timmons tomorrow afternoon," Kyle reminded as he handed off the sandwiches and containers of fruit, along with utensils, napkins, and water bottles.

  Grant did as he said, not looking up from the table for the first few bites. Kyle opened the folder, seeing it was, ironically, a sizeable dry-cleaning company in the Philadelphia metro area that offered drop-off-and-pick-up services, along with same-day services.

  Kyle chuckled, bringing Grant to finally meet his eyes. "What's funny?" the blond man asked.

  "I sure as fuck coulda used them today. My best suit and I got soaked coming back from the deli. It was raining buckets, and I don't have so many suits I can afford my best one to be out of commission for the three or four days it usually takes, ya know?" Kyle advised.

  Grant looked at him with huge eyes. "That's the angle. Important business meeting and a rainstorm. 'Call Hemmings Cleaners. Same day service, so you don't miss the most important meeting of your life.' Two-panel board. Old school… like 1950s style? One side showing the guy soaked with an exaggerated frown, and the other side showing him happy and smiling in his crisp suit. It's a bit whimsical, but…?"

  Kyle smiled. "That sounds amazing. You want me to call… who's on your creative team, Grant?" he asked.

  "Zach McCoy, Nancy Stone, and Amy Hu. Cooper was my fourth," Grant stated as he looked at the ground.

  "Let's get them in here and get them working on the boards," Kyle suggested.

  Grant groaned. "I can't work with them. Cooper worked with them, and they brought me the ideas. With him gone…"

  Kyle chuckled without humor. "You're having to actually think for yourself? You need to get your head on straight, Grant. What's it take to do that?"

  He saw his boss look down at the table again, and he was done. He grabbed Grant's hand, forcing his eyes up. "Don't hide from me. Tell me the truth. What's it going to take to get your head back in the game? You're hiding under so much shit, you're about to smother. It's time to start getting it off you, but first, I'm guessing something else needs to happen?"

  He saw Grant look at him with anger in his eyes. "I'll handle it, okay. I'm going home for the day. Set up a meeting with the team in the morning at nine. I'll have rough sketches for them by then," he snapped as he rose from the table, grabbed his suit coat, and stormed out of the office. He even slammed the door behind him.

  With the day free, Kyle called Hemmings Cleaners to pick up his suit. Much credit to their hype, they had returned it to him by four that afternoon, and it looked brand fucking new. He worked in Grant's office, lest anyone think the man had gone off his rocker, which Kyle was coming to wonder if there was an element of truth to the sentiment.

  At the end of his workday, Kyle dressed in his fresh clothes and took Grant's sweats home to wash. He stopped to pick up Thai on his way, and when he climbed the stairs to his apartment, he knocked on Connie's door. "FOOD!" Kyle called as he opened his door and walked inside. After he dropped off the food on the counter in the kitchen, he went to his bedroom to change, hanging up his newly cleaned and pressed suit. He put the dress shirt in his laundry basket along with his undershirt and socks.

  Once dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, Kyle came out of his room to find Connie with a Vogue magazine at his kitchen table, eating chicken satay and spring rolls. Kyle immediately began spilling his guts to Connie regarding Grant Cummings and his bizarre behaviors since Kyle had started working for him the previous Tuesday. After finishing his long monologue, including all of the man’s radical actions, Kyle took a breath. “Help me?”

  Connie looked up with a sweet smile and offered a Singha beer. "I put the entrees in the microwave to stay warm. So, about your friend…"

  "My boss," Kyle corrected.

  Connie laughed. "I'd say you’ve got it backward, pigeon. You've got yourself a broken submissive on your hands. I hate telling someone else's secrets, but I know you need to keep this job, and you deserve this opportunity, so I'll give you the highlights as I found them out after you mentioned the man’s name this morning.

  "Momma did a little digging, and here’s what I found out. Grant Cummings is a member of 'The Mpire Club,' a BDSM club here in Philly. He had a regular Master there, and the pair were at the club every Saturday night. They were active in the community until nine months ago. That’s when his Master got engaged to someone other than Grant Cummings.

  "Seems young Grant didn't know his Master had another lover, and when he found out, he caused an ugly scene at the club. I’m talking screaming, crying, full-blown hissy fit. His Master reacted harshly, beating the crap out of him right there, and they each had their memberships suspended for the next six months.

  "As it goes, Grant took his time out like a gentleman and showed up at the end of his shunning, even participating in scenes with one of the other Doms, who is a sadistic bastard. The man put your Mr. Cum
mings in the hospital after one particularly bloody scene at the club. The Dungeon Master safeworded on Mr. Cummings' behalf and kicked the Dom out. What you're left with is a submissive who is in a crisis, my friend.

  "I've got the name of someone who might be willing to take him on to help him through this crisis without a sexual relationship. The agreement would be to help him work out his issues surrounding the abrupt breakup with his Master and the subsequent abuse with the sadist," Connie explained.

  Kyle hated to hear such intimate things about Grant from a third party, but he needed insight the man wasn't willing to give, and he needed it immediately. "Do you think this Dom might be willing to speak with me? I'd like to…" Kyle had no idea what he wanted to be able to do for Grant, but he wanted to do something, so if this person could offer advice, he needed it as soon as possible.

  "Let's make a call," Connie suggested as he took Kyle’s cell phone and dialed a number.

  "Pembrook Realty, Iris speaking. How may I help you?" they heard over the speaker.

  "Iris, this is Connie May. Is Felicity available?" Connie asked.

  "Hi, Connie. Hang on, hon. I'll put you through to her cell," the woman announced.

  Kyle hit the mute. "How do you know this woman? It's a woman, right?"

  Connie laughed. "Domination is an equal-opportunity fetish, sweetie. And, you know I only know the best people."

  That comment made Kyle laugh. He didn't doubt it in the least.

  Chapter 5

  Fridays were business casual at T&A if one didn't have a client meeting, but as informal as Kyle was willing to go was freshly pressed khakis and a Ralph Lauren broadcloth shirt in blush pink. He felt it actually complemented his complexion, and hell, real men could wear pink.

  Kyle hopped off the bus one stop earlier to go by a Polish bakery to pick up paczki, a type of donut he’d loved as a kid in Pittsburgh. The pastries were out-of-this-world, and he hoped maybe Grant Cummings could be soothed with a little sugar to get through the team meeting at nine. A dozen donuts wouldn't hurt his introduction to the rest of the team, either… or so he hoped.

  Kyle delivered the baked goods, plates, and napkins to the conference room he'd reserved the previous day. He went to the kitchen to make coffee while perusing his firm-issued smartphone. It was a good idea to check the firm’s website for any announcements he needed to bring to Grant's attention, as the deskbook Maura had created advised.

  After he had two pots of coffee and five mugs, he set up the conference room and went to his desk to check his and Grant's voicemails.

  Kyle had three messages… One was a customer service call from Hemmings Cleaners to follow up on his order the previous day; one from his former coworker, Sridhar, in Support Services, inviting him to lunch; and the last was from Felicity Pembrook, asking him to call her cell phone.

  Next, Kyle checked Grant's voicemail to find one message. "Never, ever show up at my home drunk again, do you understand? We are through. Wrap your mind around it and get over it. I've moved on, and you need to as well," the male announced. The voice was deep, and the man sounded very pissed off.

  Kyle felt his face flush with embarrassment at having heard it, so he hung up, tagging the voicemail as not having been retrieved. He checked the clock to see it was seven thirty, and he wondered what the hell to think. He went to the deskbook to find Grant's private information because he had an awful feeling.

  The first call was to Grant’s landline, and when it wasn't answered, Kyle hung up without leaving a message. He then called Grant's cell, but he left a message. "Hi, Grant, it's Kyle. I just wanted to let you know I stopped to pick up pastries for the meeting. I checked email, but I didn't receive anything from you. I'll sketch out something based on our discussion yesterday about the 1950s concept for Mr. Timmons’ dry cleaner account. I'll distribute them to the team as soon as possible, so they have a chance to brainstorm. Let me know if there's anything else I need to do to prepare. Bye."

  Kyle pulled a board from the stack he had in a cabinet behind his desk and did a black and white sketch of limited quality to give the team an idea of the concept while allowing them a chance to show their own creativity. If they worked with Grant, he was sure they were top-notch.

  Kyle made a quick copy of the drawing after he jotted down the tag Grant had come up with the previous day, before he looked at the office map to find the locations of the team members Grant relied upon.

  The only person he found at her desk was Amy Hu, the copywriter. She was eating oatmeal as she stared at her computer screen with earplugs in her ears. She was giggling, which made Kyle wonder what she was watching. He knocked on the desk before he waved his arms to get her attention. He knew her from delivering mail on the fifth floor, but she'd never spoken to him directly. She took out the earbuds and offered a bland smile. "Hi. Can I help you?"

  It was then Kyle remembered Grant hadn't introduced him to the team because he hadn’t been working with the team recently. Cooper had been the go-between. That needed to change.

  "Hi, Miss Hu. I'm Kyle Rance. I'm taking over Lindsey Blume's job until Mr. Cummings can find someone permanent. I sent an invitation yesterday for a meeting at nine this morning, but Mr. Cummings asked to push it back to ten.

  "This is a rough draft of what he wants, and he said you should feel free to come up with several options for the tag. If you need any assistance, call me," he offered as Amy Hu studied the paper.

  He hurried out of her office and down the hall to Zach McCoy, the graphic designer. The man wasn't there, so Kyle scribbled a quick note on the copy and slid it under the door. The last stop was Nancy Stone, the media specialist on Grant's team.

  Her office door was open, but she wasn't inside, so Kyle left the copy and a note on her desk before heading back to his own. Since he hadn't heard from Grant, he hit the app to get an Uber, and after putting in Grant's address in Rittenhouse, Kyle hurried downstairs to wait for his driver. He glanced at his watch to see it was almost eight thirty, so he asked the driver to take the fastest route and wait for him at the destination for a return trip.

  When they got to the row house, Kyle ran up the front steps, seeing it was a nice redbrick settled between two white, painted brick structures, situated on either side. He damn well didn’t belong there.

  Kyle knew by the address he was in a high-priced neighborhood, not that he doubted it based on the car Grant Cummings parked in the garage. The man's suits were definitely designer and well-tailored, yet, all the trappings didn’t explain the man’s behavior of late.

  Kyle raced up the stairs and rang the bell, waiting for any signs of life. He called Grant's cell again, and when it wasn't answered, he pushed his finger against the doorbell, holding it there for a good three minutes.

  Finally, the door swung open, and for a minute, Kyle was stunned. Considering the message he'd heard on his boss's voicemail, he wasn't really surprised. "What do you want? How did you…?" Grant began.

  Kyle held up his hand. "I have your address because I work for you, and it’s in your deskbook. We have a meeting with your team at ten. I pushed it back an hour to give you a chance to get to the office and get settled. What the fuck happened to you, Grant?" he demanded, seeing the bruised jaw and the split lip. The way he slowly turned away, Kyle knew that wasn't the worst of it.

  "It's not your concern, okay? I'll take a shower and be there before ten. Let yourself out," Grant snapped.

  Kyle stepped behind the smaller man, pulling the robe down off his shoulders to reveal red welts and stripes across his back with fading purple, yellow, and green marks evident. Stunned didn’t even begin to address the sight of abuse, and when Grant turned to him and snapped, "Stop it!" Kyle refused to let go of the robe.

  "What the fuck are you doing to yourself?" he responded as he whisked the man up in his arms, carrying him upstairs. Grant began sobbing and seemed to wilt into Kyle's arms, which was unexpected, to say the least.

  He carried the man up to what Kyle assum
ed was the master bedroom and straight into the bathroom. He gently placed Grant on his feet as he turned on the large shower. "How bad were you beaten up?"

  He saw Grant's face flame. "Not nearly as bad as I should be. If you'll excuse me, I'll shower and meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes," Grant stated, clearly attempting to maintain his dignity.

  Kyle nodded and left the room to give the man his privacy, pulling the door closed behind him. He looked around the bedroom, seeing the bed was made, and there was a thin yoga mat on the floor with a top sheet scrunched at the bottom. He had no idea why the man would sleep on the floor when there was a perfectly lovely bed that looked divine… much more comfortable than the shitty mattress on which Kyle slept every night.

  Making his way downstairs to take a look around the main floor of the row house for any clue as to what was going on, Kyle took in the floor plan. There was a large, open kitchen that flowed into what appeared to be a family room with comfy couches and soft pillows.

  There were large chairs with inviting throws over the back, which were placed near a massive fireplace with a television over the mantle. There were bookcases on either side with a few pictures of a man and a woman next to a boy of about three.

  The more Kyle studied the pictures, he determined it must be Grant's parents and Grant as a small boy. There was a picture of Grant a bit older… maybe six… with an older woman. He was wearing a little boy's suit and holding a small Bible and a rosary, looking absolutely adorable. It was likely his first communion if Kyle was judging it right. The difference between one picture and the other showed a great sadness in the boy's eyes, which Kyle didn’t understand.

  Just as he was about to move on to another picture, he heard Grant running downstairs, appearing in the room in a pair of khakis and a green shirt. "I didn't have a chance to draw up anything, but I'll sketch it when I get there," Grant stated.