Chapter Seven
Kyle
Missouri
The gas station smelled of smoke from nearby chimneys and rubber, and Benson took his sweet time at the pump.
Kyle leaned back in the passenger seat, watching the sky fade from dusty pink to winter gray.
They’d been on the road all day—the silence mostly relaxed, broken only by Benson’s occasional humming along to classic rock.
When they finally pulled into a motel in St. Louis, Missouri, it was one of those roadside places with flickering signs and a half-empty parking lot.
The room Kyle shared with Benson was filled with a sense of warmth, their easy friendship making the space echo with comfortable silences and easy conversation.
Benson took his shower first and steam still hung in the air when Kyle rushed in to take his.
Kyle felt fatigue in his bones. The hot shower helped.
It melted the long miles off his skin and gave him room to breathe.
“Kyle,” Benson casually called through the bathroom door.
“I’m finished.” He wrapped a fluffy white towel around his waist and walked out of the steamy bathroom.
Benson stood by the window in tight jeans and a royal blue sweater.
“There’s this bar—a little gay club, not far from here. Could be fun.”
Kyle froze for half a second, nodding like it was no big deal. “Yeah, sure.”
But his thoughts twisted as he changed into a clean pair of jeans and shirt. He wondered if “fun” meant Benson would find someone, someone charming and sexy and maybe a little reckless. Someone easier to love. And he’d leave Kyle in a booth nursing his drink, pretending it didn’t sting.
They got there around ten. The place was loud without being overwhelming. Old brick walls, rainbow string lights draped across the ceiling, and a dance floor that pulsed with bass and glitter.
Kyle had expected discomfort. Awkward watching. But Benson bought their drinks—bourbon for himself, something fruity for Kyle—and looked at him like he wasn’t just tagging along.
“Do you ever come to places like this on your nights off?” Benson asked, raising his glass.
Kyle nodded. “When I’m looking for someone to hook up with.”
They sat close in a corner booth, their knees bumping under the table. Kyle felt the warmth of the alcohol in his chest, and the steady hum of Benson beside him. It was both grounding and distracting.
Kyle sat stiffly in the cracked vinyl booth, the rainbow lights above flickering in slow pulses like a heartbeat.
The bar smelled of old whiskey and new cologne but not exactly comforting.
Benson had barely touched his drink when he leaned in and said, “Hey. I need to talk to you about something…serious.”
And just like that, Kyle’s stomach turned to wet concrete.
He looked at Benson’s face for clues, anything soft, anything reassuring, but his expression was unreadable.
Panic shot through Kyle fast and bitter.
He suddenly hated that they were in Missouri.
That they were in a public bar. That he had finally let himself believe, just a little, that maybe Benson wouldn’t be like everyone else.
He’s gonna leave me here. The thought was loud and mean and stupid, but it was also familiar.
It was the same voice that used to whisper to him in the dark bunk at the placement center back in New York, when he was just some orphan kid with nobody to call if he got scared.
That voice had been louder today after visiting the home for girls.
The chipped paint, the weirdly quiet halls, the smell of reheated hot dogs—all of it had scraped old bruises raw.
He didn’t want Benson to know about the painful memories from his past, the ones still haunting him in the quiet of the night.
Kyle blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. Fat, ridiculous ones that made him clench his fists under the table and blurred Benson’s face. He looked away, trying to be subtle about wiping his cheek on his sleeve, but it was no use.
“I—I can’t do this again,” Kyle said, barely above a whisper. “Not here. Not like this.”
Benson knit his brows together, and then everything about him shifted—his voice, his posture, even the way he looked at Kyle. “Whoa, hey. I’m not leaving you. That’s not what this is.”
Kyle said nothing. He couldn’t trust his voice not to crack.
Benson touched his hand, grounding and warm. “I wanted to tell you…I want to take you to California. We’re both heading there anyway, right? So, I thought—what if we just did it together?”
Kyle blinked, confused. “Take me to California with you?”
“Like a road trip,” Benson said, smiling now, just a little. “Together. And…dating. While we’re driving across the country.”
Kyle stared at him, waiting for the catch. But Benson just kept smiling with a patient, stubborn kind of softness Kyle wasn’t used to.
“You want to date me in a truck across the Midwest?” Kyle said, voice hoarse.
Benson nodded. “Yeah. I think we could do that.”
Kyle snorted—half sob, half laugh. His chest still ached, but maybe it could ache a little less tomorrow.
“And I was thinking about what you told me about Daddy Michael.”
“You remember what I said?”
“What I didn’t tell you at the time was I enjoy having a boy to take care of. And I would love it if you would call me Daddy Benson when we’re alone.”
“Do you want to be my Daddy Benson for the drive?”
“Yes, and I’ll explain what I expect from you as my boy. Then you would have me to take care of you.”
“So, you want to try me out first on the drive to California?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it that way, but I want us to begin that type of relationship. We could talk about how our relationship would work with me being your daddy.”
“And does that include sleeping in the same bed, Daddy Benson?”
“Only if you agree to that aspect. I’d like you next to me.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of Daddy Benson’s suggestion. Was it real, or did he want to mess with his feelings and then dump him in California? Time would tell, but at least he’d get to know him and arrive at his destination.
“I hope we can, Daddy Benson,” Kyle whispered across the booth.
Later, when a slower song came on, Daddy Benson stood and held out a hand.
Kyle blinked. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Kyle took it. The dance floor wasn’t crowded, just enough bodies to feel alive. They maneuvered—awkward at first, but then Daddy Benson laughed under his breath and pulled him a little closer.
Kyle let himself lean in. His head rested near Daddy Benson’s shoulder, and the music softened around them, like it knew not to intrude.
“Did you really think I was going to ditch you tonight?” Daddy Benson asked.
Kyle hesitated. “Kind of.”
Daddy Benson’s fingers tightened around Kyle’s waist. “I didn’t come here looking for someone else. I would never treat you like that.”
Kyle wanted to believe him. Really believe him. But things like this didn’t happen to him, not like this, and not without a catch.
“You’re not just being nice?” he asked.
“No,” Daddy Benson said. “I’m being honest.”
Kyle’s chest felt tight. Not the bad kind but more like holding back something big and unfamiliar.
He looked up, meeting Daddy Benson’s eyes. “I guess I want something from you, but I want it to mean something to you too.”
“It already does,” Daddy Benson said.
They stayed like that, dancing slowly in the middle of the bar, and didn’t care who saw.
Kyle let the moment settle, allowing himself not to brace for impact for once.
And in that warm space between words and music, he realized Daddy Benson hadn’t just invited him to dance.
He’d made room. Now his face hovered inches above Kyle’s until their lips met in their first kiss.
Daddy Benson held his hand when they walked to their booth. A peaceful calmness filled the air as they exchanged glances.
“Can we leave now?”
“Yes, and we can talk more about our relationship, but we do have to get up early.”
At this beautiful moment, Kyle’s phone rang.
He checked who was calling. Mr. Greco. He must have figured out he had taken the money and left town.
With a final swipe, he turned off his phone and put it away.
Daddy Benson witnessed Kyle dismissing the incoming phone call, but he didn’t call him on it.