Chapter Nine
Kyle
Oklahoma
The next day, Kyle leaned back in the passenger seat of Daddy Benson’s truck, watching the blur of trees and highway signs roll past as they made their way toward Oklahoma City.
The radio played a mix of old Christmas songs—some cheery, some corny.
The heat was cranked just high enough to fight off the crisp December air.
They’d made two stops: breakfast at a roadside diner where the waitress called them “sweethearts,” and lunch from a gas station with surprisingly decent chicken tenders.
Daddy Benson drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally fishing around for his coffee cup. “We’re stopping shortly,” he’d said, just after lunch. “It’s a home for homeless gay boys. Some of ’em have been through hell and back. I want us to remind them that someone still gives a damn.”
Kyle had nodded, chewing a French fry slowly. “You know I’m in. What are we bringing them?”
“The presents are in the back with their names on them. I was given a list of what was needed.”
“That is really so kind of you,” Kyle said, thinking back to his days at various homes and shelters.
If only someone had come to see him or wanted him, but no one wanted to adopt him.
He was alone from the moment he was sent away.
He couldn’t remember why or how he had gotten there, but as far as he was concerned, he was born there. No parents. No family.
Daddy Benson grinned. “We’re going to get our own Santa and elf outfits.”
Kyle snorted. “Yay!”
They hit a holiday store on the way, grabbed some decent outfits, and loaded them into the back of the truck with the wrapped presents.
By the time they reached the shelter, the sky was streaked with gray and gold, and the building looked like any other brick community house—plain but sturdy, with a ramp leading up to the front room.
Inside, they were led to a long living room filled with boys, some barely in their teens, some older.
Blankets over their laps, mismatched socks, tired eyes that lit up a little at the sight of Daddy Benson in full Santa gear and Kyle trailing behind in green tights and a pointy hat.
He passed out candy canes while Daddy Benson had a few words with the group parents.
“Ho ho ho!” Daddy Benson bellowed, dramatically off-key.
Kyle rolled his eyes but waved at everyone with a grin.
“Kyle?”
The voice came from the middle of the room.
A red-haired young man stood up from the couch.
He was taller now, more filled out, but the face was familiar—Sam.
With those striking gray eyes and a smattering of freckles across his face, Kyle would never forget.
From New York. From freezing nights and crowded shelters.
Kyle froze for a second. “Sam?” His voice cracked a little, then he crossed the room in a few long strides, and they hugged tight—the kind of hug that says I missed you, and I’m glad you’re still breathing.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Sam murmured. “You look good.”
Kyle felt a lump in his throat. “You too. Way better than back then.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. “This place is different. It’s safe.”
Daddy Benson told Kyle he’d handle the gifts.
He kept the room lively as Santa handing out gifts by calling their names.
Kyle and Sam sat on the edge of the couch and talked about the shelter back in New York, how things had changed, and how Kyle had somehow wound up here in elf gear handing out candy canes.
Seeing Sam reminded Kyle of his past, nothing to brag about, but it was what it was.
Sometimes, seeing someone’s familiar face in a room full of strangers removed the pain of separation.
The knot of anxiety in his chest loosened a little.
There were people who cared. Sam was one of them, then they were separated when Kyle aged out.
Poor Sam still had time to do before he aged out.
The couch they shared was lumpy, and the fabric was pilled, but neither Kyle nor Sam seemed to notice. Their knees touched as they leaned in, voices low amid the rustling of gift wrap and Daddy Benson’s booming laughter.
“So…you’re an elf now?” Sam teased, eyeing Kyle’s ridiculous green tights with mock seriousness.
Kyle groaned. “Don’t remind me. Daddy Benson thought it would add to the Christmas spirit.” He threw air quotes and glanced over at Daddy Benson, who was mid-sleigh-bell jig for a kid giggling beneath a blanket.
Sam chuckled. “I’m glad Santa dragged you all the way to Oklahoma.”
“We actually met when I was hitchhiking out of the city. He picked me up, and things started up between us. I’m hoping for us to work out.”
“The way he looks at you says a lot. You did good. Why were you leaving?”
“My boss fired me.”
“Mr. Greco?”
“Yes. It was bad, and I made it worse.”
“What did you do?”
Kyle whispered in Sam’s ear. “Stole money.”
“I doubt he’ll chase you to California for it.”
Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work through the buzz of nerves and nostalgia. “He could find me if he wanted to.”
“He’s too busy unless it was a lot of money.”
“Do you have a phone?” Kyle ignored Sam’s remark.
Sam nodded.
“Let me put my number in it and send myself a message.”
Sam removed his phone from his pocket and handed it to Kyle. He added his number, then he sent a message from Sam’s phone to his.
“I’ll call you for sure,” Sam said as he put his phone away.
“I didn’t think I’d see anyone from New York again. Especially not you.”
Sam’s expression softened. “You were one of the few people who didn’t treat me like a lost cause back then.”
“I didn’t know how not to be one myself,” Kyle whispered. “We were both just surviving.”
Sam nodded, then gave a half-smile. “Still are. But it’s different now. This place…it feels like people see us for more than what we’ve been through.”
Kyle’s chest ached with a mix of hope and guilt. He hadn’t kept in touch. Hadn’t known if Sam had made it out okay. But here he was standing taller and laughing lighter.
“You know I’ll never forget how you saved me when I was beaten by a group of bullies in the street. Could have died. But you came and took me to the shelter and stayed by my side until I got well again. No one has ever done anything like that for me. I owe everything to you, Kyle.”
“I always told you that you’re my little brother, a gift from the universe. I should have kept in touch. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m fine now and owe it to you.” Sam hugged Kyle then wiped his tears away.
“We won’t lose touch again. If things work out in California, I’ll send for you, and you can stay with me.”
Across the room, Daddy Benson caught Kyle’s eye and winked, holding up a pair of fuzzy socks like they were gold bars. His Santa beard was crooked, and his hat had somehow shifted sideways, but the kids were glowing. Kyle felt something warm stir under his ribs.
Daddy Benson hadn’t just brought gifts. He’d brought a presence.
Kyle leaned closer to Sam. “How long are you staying here?”
“Until I turn eighteen,” Sam said. “Then I’m thinking about community college. Maybe social work.”
Kyle smiled. “I could see that. You always looked out for the younger ones.”
They sat a while longer, talking about old nights spent under too-thin blankets, trading snacks and sharing stories. Daddy Benson joined them eventually, plopping down beside them with a dramatic sigh.
“You two catching up or conspiring?” Daddy Benson asked.
“Both,” Kyle smirked.
“Good.” Daddy Benson reached over and played with Kyle’s hat.
When it was time to leave, they changed back into their clothes, and Kyle hugged Sam for a long time before he was ready to leave.
Once they were back in the truck, Daddy Benson leaned over and kissed Kyle.
“You gave Sam back his smile. That’s worth more than any other gift.”
Daddy Benson’s gaze landed on Kyle, who was quietly wiping a tear away, his shoulders slightly slumped. This wasn’t just nostalgia. It was healing. A reminder of where he’d been and how far he’d come.