Unbreak Him

by Sam E. Kraemer

  Grant began setting out plates and flatware, along with napkins. "Let's not talk of such rude things while we eat, okay?"

  Kyle agreed, knowing it was likely tough for his boss to explain such intimate details, but it was necessary. Kyle was coming to care for Grant genuinely, and wanted to help him. He believed he'd do anything he could to support the man, which was ridiculously premature because they'd only known each other, personally, for a week. Kyle's age and naïvety were showing, and it was embarrassing.

  Chapter 8

  Kyle helped Grant clear the counter after breakfast, and then followed the man into the great room with coffee. He wasn’t sure what else he was going to hear that morning, but he was trying to brace himself. He needed to be strong, and he was determined to present himself as such. Fake it ‘til you make it.

  After the two of them were settled, Kyle slipped off his shoes and pulled a leg up under him, turning to face Grant. "Okay, so, tell me what you need as a submissive. Can I ask you why you want to be…? This probably isn’t the right way to ask, but why do you prefer to submit yourself to someone else?"

  Grant sighed. "I've been in therapy on and off for years, so don't even suggest I need to see someone, okay? I know my buttons. It comes from feelings of abandonment as a small child, and then being raised by a disciplinarian who made every decision for me as I was growing up.

  “I never learned to be an independent man, and I've always sought out partners who were tough and demanding. I wanted someone who would take the lead in a relationship, even though they only lasted a short time for me. The failures were hard, but I had a desire to find someone, so I continued to look.

  "I stumbled into a club in Los Angeles while I was in college, and I sat at a bar to have a drink, sick of one-night stands and simply floundering, really. A guy sat down next to me, and we struck up a conversation. He invited me to go with him to another club he knew, and I was about half in the bag, so I went without much concern for my own safety at that point. That was my first exposure to BDSM. I went upstairs and watched a scene with a male Dom and a male sub, and I waited until it was over, asking if I could speak with them.

  "After that one visit, I started training with a Master at the club. I worked there on weekends while I was in college, and I found it suited me at the time. Our relationship wasn't sexual, which most people believe it would be. It was simply him laying out expectations and me deciding how far I would go to please him. It was simple at first… diet and exercise; bedtime; waking time; how many hours I had to finish homework.

  “I found I liked the structure because it was what I was used to from childhood with Aunt Deirdre. She was a matron sister of my grandmother's, and she was the only member of my family who would take me in when my parents were killed.

  "I was seven. I grew to feel a sense of gratitude for Deirdre’s generosity, so I did everything she asked. My punishments were self-imposed back then, because she had such high expectations of me, and it broke my spirit when I failed her.

  "When I found the BDSM community, I found my comfort zone. I'm sure you don't understand it, Kyle, but it's what's kept me going for a long time, and when I lost my Master, well…" Grant trailed off, leaving Kyle's chest hurting from hearing the saddest story he'd ever heard in his life.

  "Okay, I can understand how the lifestyle would offer you some comfort. If you've lived a strict life, I'm sure it's hard to adapt to the freedom of college. Hell, that's probably why I started forging IDs. When did getting your ass kicked start?" Kyle asked. That was the part that troubled him the most.

  Grant chuckled a bit. "My parents were lay missionaries of the Catholic Church, and my father was raised by his aunt after his parents died, which was how I came to live with Deirdre, eventually.

  “My great-aunt was a member of Opus Dei. It's a strict order of the Catholic faith, and some members participate in self-flagellation in the vein of Christ's flagellation before the crucifixion. The practice goes back centuries, but Aunt Deirdre believed it was necessary after she went to confession every day.

  "After my first communion, Aunt Deirdre explained her beliefs regarding the priests in the modern Church being too lenient when passing penance. She told me I needed to feel the sting of the strap to rid myself of impure thoughts and deeds so God would see my intent was to live a pious life. At her tutelage, I began to self-flagellate when I was about eight. That's where the beatings come into play," Grant explained.

  Once he heard that confession, Kyle was stunned silent. Never, in his life, had he heard of anything so fucking distorted. Hell, his parents were Methodists at Christmas and Easter, so he didn't have a lot of religious upbringing to rely on, but what Grant was telling him wasn't anything he was prepared to hear.

  Only one question came to mind. "What does your aunt think about you being gay?"

  Grant sighed. "She doesn't know. She's a bit out of her head these days, so I never told her how evil I truly am. If she had a moment of coherence, she’d be terribly disappointed in me, and I couldn’t live with that."

  "Oh, come on. You don't really believe that, do you? What? All us fags are devil's spawn?" Kyle spouted.

  "Look, I know it's all strange, and yes, I know better than to believe God will smite me because I would rather lie with men than women, but it's hard to give up a lifetime of training. I'm a masochist at heart, Kyle. I guess I have been since I was a child.

  "Using a belt on my back wasn't enough punishment for some of the things I did as I got older, so Aunt Deirdre had the gardener beat me when I made my confessions to her. As I've aged and become fucked in the head, it's the only way I can have some semblance of order in my soul," Grant explained.

  Okay, the guy's been fucked up for a long time. This one might be more than Mistress Felicity can handle. I need to talk to her first, Kyle thought. It was a lot different than he'd considered in the beginning, and he was starting to think it was too much for him to handle as well.

  There was one question that kept circling his brain, so Kyle asked. "And, where is dear Aunt Deirdre these days?"

  "The crazy old bitch is in a nursing home in upstate New York. She was in a cloistered monastery for a while, but she was too fucking nuts for them to deal with her, so the Opus Dei people put her into a nursing home.

  "Trust me, Kyle, I know this is fucked up, and I've gone to multiple therapists because of it, but I've never found anything close to making me feel whole like the safety of having a good Dom," Grant explained.

  That was a great segue for the rest of the conversation. "Okay, so, I met a woman who might be right up your alley, and she's invited me for dinner tomorrow night. Would you like to go with me to meet her? She's very cool," Kyle described.

  "Who is she? I know nearly everyone in the community," Grant stated.

  "Felicity Pembrook," Kyle responded.

  He saw Grant's face contort into astonishment. "How on earth did you…?"

  "She's a good friend of my neighbor. Look, will you come with me tomorrow night? She's really nice, and she's invited us," Kyle answered, honestly.

  He saw Grant taste the words he'd just said. "Us? What does she know about us? I didn't know there was an us."

  Kyle knew he was walking a tightrope, and he didn't want to piss off his boss, or overstep some boundary, but somebody needed to help the man. If not him, then the bastard who kept hitting him would continue to do so, and the handsome man sitting across from him could end up maimed or dead at some point. He couldn't let that happen.

  "Look, I'm worried about you, and I kinda heard some stuff about what you've been going through, so I talked to my neighbor, who's a drag queen, and he told me about Felicity. I had drinks with her last night, and she invited us over tomorrow evening. I know we don't know each other well, but I'm worried about you, Grant.

  "I want to work with you because I believe you to be a genius, and I think we can be a successful team, but right now, you're not in a good place. I want to help you get to that good place.
It will be beneficial for both of us, I believe," Kyle clarified.

  Grant finished his coffee and stood, looking at Kyle. "I need to think about this. I know of Felicity Pembrook, but I've never met her because… well, there are reasons. I'm not sure how to process this situation, Kyle. I need to think," Grant stated.

  Kyle finished his coffee and rose from the couch. "Okay. I'm going to Felicity's house tomorrow evening for dinner. I'd love it if you'd accompany me. She's training a sub, and the guy's a fantastic cook, so I know the food will be good. Come with me, Grant. You have nothing to lose, really," Kyle asserted.

  He saw Grant look down at the floor before he looked up, meeting Kyle's eyes. "Can I call you tomorrow? I'll probably come, but I need to work up to it."

  Kyle nodded and hugged the smaller man on impulse before he was shown out of the house. To say he had a lot to think about was ironic. Kyle spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning his apartment, doing laundry, and ironing his clothes. He had a few other ideas regarding the "Hemmings Dry Cleaning" account as he steamed creases into his khakis, but they'd have to wait. There was other, more pressing business that needed attending. Getting Grant Cummings into some sort of a stable relationship was his highest priority.

  At twelve thirty that Saturday night as Kyle sat on his couch watching television, his phone lit up. He picked it up to see it was a message from his boss.

  I'll go with you. Please let me know the required dress and what time you'll pick me up. I appreciate this opportunity to meet such a great woman. Grant

  Kyle exhaled. One hurdle down. God only knew how many more to go.

  Kyle knocked on Connie's door at noon on Sunday, having heard his guest leaving about an hour prior. He'd looked out the peephole when he heard talking in the hallway to see a large man with a full beard, which surprised him, but he'd never asked Connie about his preferences in companionship. Connie hadn't asked him either, but Kyle was still surprised the well-groomed drag queen was attracted to a huge bear.

  Connie opened the door in a peach-colored, silk dressing gown. "Ah, hello, darling Kyle. What now? I was about to settle on the couch with Betty Davis and a cappuccino. What can I possibly do for you?"

  Kyle pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweats and read the text from Grant. "So?"

  Connie pulled him inside, shutting the door. He took Kyle's hand to lead him into the kitchen, where a fancy coffee maker was sputtering its end. "Make yourself a cup and come into the living room. I want the intro to this movie. We'll talk after it starts," Connie demanded as he quickly breezed off.

  Kyle made himself a cup of coffee, adding some flavored non-dairy thing he found on the counter. It was pumpkin spice, and he was a sucker for the flavors of fall.

  He walked into the living room to see Connie stretched out on the couch with a colorful afghan over his legs. Kyle took a seat in a plush chair to the side and put his bare feet up on the coffee table. After the handsome guy introduced "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane," Kyle turned to Connie and laughed.

  "This is like a fucking nightmare. I remember watching this when I was a kid. It's awful," he complained.

  Connie sat up. "Bite your tongue, young man. Miss Davis and Miss Crawford were bitter rivals who agreed to put aside their differences and make this masterpiece. It was nominated for several awards. Anyway, call Fe and read her the message. I don't know what he means any more than you. I don't participate in those types of relationships, but honestly, he's likely got every right to be concerned. Her number is in the phone book in the kitchen. Get out," Connie ordered.

  Kyle did as was directed, cleaning his coffee mug and loading it into the dishwasher before he copied down the number. "Thank you, Connie," he called as he let himself out of Connie's apartment, ensuring the door was locked.

  Once he returned to his place, he quickly called Felicity Pembrook. "Good morning, Pembrook residence. Anthony speaking," he heard.

  "Hello, this is Kyle Rance. I was Miss Pembrook's guest on Friday night, and I wondered if I might speak with her? I'll only take a moment of her time," he assured.

  After a minute, he heard, "Kyle, darling, how are you?"

  "Miss Pembrook, I'm sorry to interrupt your morning, but I conveyed your invitation to my friend, Grant Cummings, and he's agreed to accompany me. He asked me about the required dress, and I know he holds you in high esteem, so I wanted to check with you, ma'am," Kyle offered.

  She laughed a bit before she answered. "Tell your friend it's an outdoor barbecue menu, so casual clothes are the order. I'll be wearing jeans, as will my companion, Lance. Anthony will serve us dinner and retire afterward so the four of us can speak freely. How's that? Do you need me to call Grant?"

  "No, Miss Pembrook. I'll contact him. Thank you again for granting us some of your time. You'll never know how much I appreciate it," he offered.

  She giggled again. "You may call me Felicity, Kyle."

  He took a deep breath and thought for a moment before answering. "Actually, ma'am, I don't think I've earned that privilege yet, but hopefully, soon. Again, thank you," he told her as they signed off the phone. He sent a text to Grant in return.

  Spoke with Miss Pembrook. Casual barbecue. She's wearing jeans, as is her sub. I'll pick you up at five. KR

  Kyle paced his apartment for the rest of the afternoon, asking himself questions.

  What the fuck are you thinking? "I want to help my boss get over this bullshit from being dumped."

  What do you hope to accomplish by helping him? "I hope by helping him, we can concentrate on work. We have several campaigns on the horizon, and he needs to be at his best."

  What's in it for you, dumbass? That one was harder to answer. The way his head was swimming, Kyle was tempted to get out the book from his insurance company and find himself a psychiatrist to try to help him sort his shit because he was so fucking confused, but first order of business was to get Grant Cummings in the frame of mind to be productive at the office. Yes, it was self-serving, but Kyle had already accepted the fact he could be a bit cold-hearted, so it was time to move on.

  There was a knock on his door at four that evening, which he didn't expect. He opened the door to see the big man he'd seen leaving Connie's apartment that morning. "Uh, hi?"

  "Hello. I'm Brian. My Connie said you needed to borrow a car, and since I own a body shop, I have a few available. I have the keys to a Ford pickup, a Honda Civic, or my favorite, a 2005 Chevy Corvette Convertible. She's a beauty. You tell me what you want, and I'll be back with it in fifteen minutes," the man told him.

  Kyle was stunned. The big bear was definitely a teddy bear. "Sometime soon, we're all going out for brunch, my treat, Brian. I believe you're someone I want to get to know. So, um, the Corvette? I mean, I'm only driving it out to…"

  "Oh, Connie told me where you were going. I figured you'd want to impress your guy, so I drove the 'Vette. I'm spending the night, so you just take your time. I'll knock in the morning when I'm leaving," the man offered.

  Connie opened the door and smiled. "Sweetheart, he can hang the keys on the door handle. No one will dare touch them. They've all seen you," Connie teased as he took the man's hand.

  Kyle smiled. "He's right. I leave early. I'll put them in a sock and leave them on the door handle. Thank you, Brian. Have a good night," he told them as he walked out of his apartment. He took the keys before he shook hands with the man.

  When he walked out of the apartment building twenty minutes later, he saw a beautiful, metallic, sky-blue, convertible at the curb. Kyle would have to do something special for the pair of them. It was more than a kind gesture.

  He programmed Grant's address into his phone and set off on his way. When he pulled onto the street, he couldn't find parking, so he double-parked at the curb, quickly running up to the door to hit the buzzer. It barely sounded before it opened to reveal Grant Cummings in a pair of jeans and a teal sweater. He looked stunning, his blond hair brushed back out of his eyes.

  "I made some ber
ry tarts this afternoon. Do you think it would be stupid to bring them?" Grant asked.

  Kyle could see he was nervous, so he stepped forward and touched his soft cheek. "I don't think it would be stupid at all. She's looking forward to meeting you, Grant. You have nothing to worry about, I promise."

  Kyle hoped it wasn't an empty promise. He had no idea what to expect for the night, but he had high hopes for success. That was what he was counting on, anyway.

  Chapter 9

  Kyle drove up the circular drive after the front gate opened, parking the Corvette in front of the grand house. "Wow! This is where she lives?" Grant asked.

  "Yeah. It's pretty cool, isn't it?" Kyle responded as he shifted the convertible into park and ran his fingers through his windblown hair. The ride with the top down had been a lot of fun, and he could see Grant had enjoyed it as well.

  They rang the bell, Grant standing behind Kyle looking at his shoes. When the door opened, Kyle saw it was Lance, the naked piano player from Friday night. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, looking very handsome. Kyle hadn't gotten a good look at his face on Friday night, distracted by his gorgeous, naked body, but the man was beautiful with his ebony skin and black dreadlocks hanging about his shoulders.

  "Hey, Kyle, man, come on in. Who's your friend?" Lance asked much less formally than he'd been on Friday night.

  "This is Grant Cummings. He's actually my boss," Kyle introduced as he took Grant's hand and pulled him inside the house. Grant said nothing, so Kyle took the container from him.

  "He's a bit shy. He made these tarts, though. Grant, this is Lance, Felicity's primary sub. I guess Anthony's cooking somewhere?" Kyle asked, trying to alleviate the tense feeling in Grant's body.

  "Kyle, tell Grant he may speak freely," they all heard from the stairs leading up to the second floor. It was Felicity coming downstairs in a pair of jeans and a loose blouse that was open down the front. It was a swirling pattern of grey, black, and white, and it highlighted her dark hair, which she was wearing down in loose curls.