Chapter Eleven
Kyle
New Mexico
The sun hadn’t fully climbed over the horizon yet, but the truck was already humming down the highway, slicing through the quiet morning.
Kyle sat in the passenger seat, elbow propped against the window, watching the desert roll by in muted shades of gold and rust. His mind, though, wasn’t on the scenery—it was still tangled up in last night’s dinner conversation.
The morning light was soft, but it didn’t soothe him.
Not today. He was quiet—too quiet—and he knew Daddy Benson noticed.
But he couldn’t help it. Last night’s dinner conversation had left a bruise.
Daddy Benson had asked, “So what do you want to do in California?” like it was just a casual question.
But to Kyle, it felt like a test. Or worse, a setup.
Like Daddy Benson was already looking for a way out, a way to feel okay about leaving him behind.
Kyle felt it in his bones. This was what happened when he allowed himself to be available for love.
But inside, he’d felt the sting. Because the truth was, he didn’t care what job he got or what city they landed in.
He just wanted Daddy Benson. He wanted someone to choose him and stay.
But Daddy Benson had roots in Michigan—family, history, and a whole life.
Kyle had none of that. And he believed Daddy Benson would drive him all the way to California, help him unpack, maybe even kiss him goodbye, and then make a big turn around toward home.
The thought made Kyle’s stomach twist into the past. He remembered the day he’d aged out of the shelter for homeless boys.
Eighteen. No job. No one was waiting for him.
He’d walked out with a trash bag of clothes and a bus pass, pretending he wasn’t scared out of his mind.
That night, he slept behind a laundromat, curled up with his hoodie pulled tight, listening to the hum of dryers and trying not to cry.
He’d told himself he didn’t need anyone.
That needing people only led to disappointment.
But then Daddy Benson came along. And Kyle let himself believe—just a little—that maybe this time would be different.
With a smile, Daddy Benson said, “It’s a beautiful morning,” his hand resting briefly on Kyle’s thigh.
Kyle, unable to speak through his emotions, simply nodded his head.
With miles of road behind them and California ahead, the old fear crept back in.
He felt stupid for loving Daddy Benson. Stupid for hoping.
He could already see it: Daddy Benson helping him settle in, giving him a warm smile, and then saying something like, “I need to go back for a bit. Just to check in.” And Kyle would nod, pretending it was fine, pretending he didn’t feel like he was being left behind all over again.
Daddy Benson glanced over, probably catching the silence. He tapped the steering wheel lightly and said, “Hey, we need a break from all this driving.”
Kyle blinked, pulling himself out of the depressing spiral of thoughts. “Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile.
But it wasn’t real. Not to him. It felt like a dream someone else was narrating, and he was just playing along.
He stared out the window again, heart heavy, wondering if he’d made a mistake leaving New York. Wondering if he’d made a bigger mistake letting himself fall for someone who might never stay.
Grinning, Daddy Benson said, “What do you think about spending Christmas on the beach? I’ll rent a condo right on the beach for us.”
Kyle nodded, but his chest felt tight. He wanted to believe in that version of the future—Daddy Benson laughing beside him, their own little holiday traditions forming under the California sun.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling Daddy Benson was just trying to make the ride easier.
Like he was painting a picture he didn’t plan to stick around for.
Kyle stared out the window again, watching a hawk glide over the scrub brush. He said nothing for a while. His thoughts were loud enough.
What if he goes back? What if Kyle was just a detour?
He hated thinking like this. He hated he was already pulling back, emotionally shutting doors before they could even be opened. But he’d done this before, gotten too close, wanted too much, and ended up standing alone in the wreckage.
Daddy Benson reached over and squeezed his knee. “You okay?”
Kyle nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”
Daddy Benson didn’t push. He just turned the music up a little and kept driving.
Kyle leaned his head against the window, letting the vibrations of the road buzz through his skull. He wasn’t sure if he was running toward something or away from everything. Maybe both. Maybe that was the problem.
Kyle had been quiet for most of the drive, his mood sinking lower with every mile.
He tried to hide it—staring out the window, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie—but Daddy Benson wasn’t the type to let things slide.
After a long stretch of silence, he pulled off the highway and into a dusty little town in New Mexico.
The sun was warm, the air dry and soft, nothing like the biting ice cold back east.
“We’re taking a break here,” Daddy Benson said, cutting the engine. “Come on.”
They wandered through a small grocery store, picking out snacks for the truck—cold drinks, chips, a couple of sandwiches.
Kyle tried to act normal, cracking a weak joke about the weird flavors of soda, but Daddy Benson kept watching him like he could see right through his act.
They put the sandwiches in the small cooler in the truck and kept the snacks in the bag behind the front seat.
Then Daddy Benson steered them toward a tiny Mexican restaurant tucked between a thrift shop and a gas station.
The place smelled like roasted peppers and spices, and the walls were painted in warm reds and yellows.
They sat in a booth by the window, sunlight spilling across the table.
They ordered their meals, which didn’t take very long.
Kyle picked at his food, appetite gone. Daddy Benson reached across the table and took his hand.
“Look,” he said gently, “I know I’ve been talking about Michigan. And I know that probably messed with your head. But I need you to hear this. Whatever happens, wherever we end up, I want you with me.”
Kyle looked up, eyes already stinging. “You say that now,” he murmured. “But what if you change your mind? What if you go back and I’m just…left?”
Daddy Benson squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere without you.
I don’t know where we’ll end up. It could be California, Michigan, or some tiny town in the middle of nowhere.
I want us to figure it out together. But I know one thing for sure—I don’t want to live apart from you. Not now. Not ever.”
Kyle’s throat tightened. He wanted to believe it.
God, he needed to believe it. But that old fear clung to him like a shadow.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered.
“To be left. To have no one. When I aged out of the shelter, I didn’t even have a place to sleep.
I didn’t have anyone who cared whether I was alive. I don’t bounce back from that easily.”
Daddy Benson slid into his side of the booth, wrapping an arm around Kyle’s shoulders.
“I care,” he said, voice low and steady.
“I care so much it scares me sometimes. You’re smart, and strong, and you’ve got this quiet fire in you that I admire more than I can say.
You matter to me, Kyle. You’re not just someone I picked up on the road. You’re it for me.”
Kyle couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears spilled down his cheeks, hot and silent. Daddy Benson brushed them away with his thumb, then leaned in and kissed him—soft, slow, like he had all the time in the world.
Kyle melted into it, heart pounding, walls crumbling. He kissed back with everything he had, clutching Daddy Benson’s shirt like he was afraid he’d disappear.
When they pulled apart, Kyle rested his forehead against Daddy Benson’s. “I’m scared,” he whispered.
“I know,” Daddy Benson said. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time in a long time, Kyle let himself believe it.