Chapter Sixteen
Benson
Arizona
Benson hadn’t planned on roller skating in Flagstaff, but Kyle had that look—restless, half-bored, half-curious—and the rink was blasting Christmas music.
Skating wasn’t something Benson normally thought of as entertainment, but with Kyle being a dancer he figured this might work for him.
A thought repeatedly ran through his mind—would he be able to keep this hyper dancer from boredom?
Was he too old for him? He worried about keeping up with him.
Then he worried about how he would deal with Kyle cluttering up his home since he wasn’t into keeping things in order the way he did.
Everything had its place, and he truly got stressed if things were placed in the wrong place.
But he couldn’t imagine life without him.
He had to be the one to change. Kyle had been through enough disappointments.
The place smelled like popcorn and rental skates, and the lights were strung up like a low-budget winter wonderland.
They rented their skates and sat down to put them on.
Kyle didn’t wait for Benson. He was already out on the floor, weaving through kids and couples like he’d been born with wheels on his feet.
Show-off. Benson leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching Kyle spin around like he was auditioning for some kind of holiday-themed skating crew.
Surely, he made the right decision in stopping here.
This is what he needed, and maybe a little separate time even though he didn’t complain about the quantity of time they spent together.
“Have you ever done this before?” Benson called out when Kyle skated past.
Kyle grinned, did a little hop-turn, and shot backward. “Of course.”
Benson chuckled. “Explains the confidence.”
They skated together for a bit—Kyle trying tricks, Benson mostly trying not to fall. The music shifted from Mariah Carey to a jazzy version of “Jingle Bells,” and Benson checked his watch. Time.
He skated over and tapped Kyle’s arm. “Hey, I gotta go outside. Stay out here; keep showing off.”
Kyle gave a mock salute and spun away. He loved the skating rink.
Benson removed the skates and put on his shoes.
He stepped outside into the cold Flagstaff air, his breath fogging up.
The man was already waiting by the curb, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the lot.
Benson handed over the truck keys for the van’s key without a word.
The guy nodded as Benson watched him carry everything from the truck to the van.
Benson double-checked the back of the van.
Inside were the California presents—boxes wrapped in shiny paper, some with ribbons still intact.
When he made sure everything was there, he nodded to the man.
Benson had arranged for a driver to return the truck to New York. Too many eyes on them lately. He’d spotted a car tailing them back at the hospital and at the stop before, the same one that showed up outside the diner. He didn’t like patterns. He opened the driver’s door of the van.
It was clean, nondescript. No logos, no flash.
Just a plain white shell with tinted windows and a quiet hum.
Inside, it was surprisingly cozy—two bucket seats up front, a bench seat behind, and a small built-in cabinet with snacks and bottled water.
The back had a fold-out mattress, a couple of fleece blankets, and a portable heater humming softly.
Benson had made sure it was stocked for comfort, not just function.
Benson spotted them as soon as he stepped back onto the rink—Kyle, flushed and laughing, sitting way too close to some guy at one of those flimsy plastic tables near the snack bar.
Kyle’s skates were gone, his boots back on, a half-empty beer in hand.
And the guy—Andy he later learned—was leaning in like they’d known each other longer than the fifteen minutes Benson had been gone.
Benson grabbed his own beer at the bar, trying not to let the twist in his gut show. He walked over, slow and casually, but his heart was doing something stupid in his chest. There were only two chairs. Of course, there were only two chairs.
He stood there, beer in hand, arms crossed. “Who’s this?” he asked, voice light but tight.
Kyle looked up, smile still lingering. “This is Andy. I knocked him over on the rink, so I bought him a beer.”
Benson blinked. Bought him a beer? That was new. Kyle didn’t usually do the whole chivalry thing. Not for strangers.
Andy turned toward him, friendly enough. “Hey. I’m Andy.”
Benson nodded, jaw tight. “Benson.”
He didn’t offer his hand. Just stood there, trying to figure out if Andy was actually cute or if jealousy was making him see things. Probably both.
Kyle gestured vaguely at the table. “Sorry, there’s only two chairs.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Benson said, taking a sip of his beer. He stayed standing, feeling like the third wheel in a story he hadn’t been invited to.
Andy glanced between them, sensing something. “You guys know each other?”
Kyle hesitated. “Yeah. We’ve been traveling together.”
Benson let out a short laugh. “Sure. That’s it.”
Kyle looked up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Benson shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing. Just…didn’t know you were in the habit of buying beers for guys you knock over.”
Kyle’s face softened, but he didn’t look away. “It was just a friendly gesture. He hit the floor pretty hard.”
Andy, bless him, looked uncomfortable. “I can go if this is weird—”
“No,” Kyle said quickly. “You don’t have to go.”
Benson felt that one like a slap. He looked at Kyle, really looked at him, and saw the flush in his cheeks wasn’t just from skating. There was something else there—something warm, something open.
And Benson hated how much he wanted that warmth to be for him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna finish this standing, I guess.”
Kyle’s eyes flicked to the empty space beside him, then back to Benson. “You could’ve sat on my lap.”
It was a joke. Probably. But Benson’s heart stuttered anyway.
Andy smiled awkwardly. “I think I’m intruding.”
Kyle shook his head. “You’re not.”
But Benson was already backing up a step. “I’ll give you guys some space.”
Kyle stood up then, sudden and sharp. “Benson, wait.”
Benson paused, beer halfway to his lips. “Why?”
Kyle looked torn, like he didn’t know which way to lean. “Because I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t welcome.”
Benson swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to say it. I felt it.”
Andy stood too, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m gonna go grab another drink. You two talk.”
He walked off, leaving Kyle and Benson in the awkward silence that followed.
Kyle stepped closer. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Benson looked at him, eyes tired. “I know. But you did.”
Kyle reached out, fingers brushing Benson’s wrist. “I didn’t know it mattered this much to you.”
Benson met his gaze, voice low. “Neither did I.”
Kyle nodded. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Then he looked to the door and asked, “Did you do what you had to?”
“Yeah,” Benson said, leading him out. “Truck’s headed back to New York. We’re taking a van.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Benson didn’t answer, just took Kyle’s hand and walked outside. He unlocked the van and slid open the side door. “We were being followed. Figured we’d switch things up.”
Kyle stepped inside, eyes scanning the setup. “This is…actually nice.”
“Thought we’d keep it low-key,” Benson said. “Not many stops left. Just wanted to make sure we weren’t dragging a target behind us.”
Kyle nodded slowly, settling into the passenger seat. “Smart.”
Benson started the engine, the van purring to life. Outside, the Flagstaff lights blurred into the night. Inside, it felt like a small, quiet world of their own.
The van rolled out of the rink’s parking lot, tires crunching over patches of ice crusted along the edges.
Kyle had kicked off his shoes and was now curled sideways in the passenger seat, one leg tucked under him, sipping the last of his beer from the bottle.
Benson kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was chewing on the tail they’d picked up two days ago.
He hadn’t told Kyle everything. Not yet.
Kyle glanced over. “You think it was someone from New York?”
Benson shrugged, but his grip on the wheel tightened. “Could be. Or someone who wants us to think you’re being watched.”
Truth was, Benson didn’t know. The car had been subtle—never too close, never too obvious.
But it was the same make, same dent on the rear bumper, same lazy way it hung back just far enough to be forgettable.
Benson had spent too many years learning how to spot the things people didn’t want you to notice.
He glanced at Kyle, who was now fiddling with the heater dial. Kyle had a way of making things feel lighter than they were. Benson appreciated that. But he also knew Kyle wasn’t na?ve—just good at pretending things didn’t rattle him.
“Are you sure switching to the van’s enough?” Kyle asked.
Benson hesitated. “It’s not about being sure. It’s about making it harder for them to be sure.”
Kyle nodded slowly, then leaned his head against the window. “You ever get tired of looking over your shoulder?”
Benson didn’t answer right away. He watched the road stretch out ahead—dark, quiet, lined with pine trees that looked like shadows stacked on shadows.
He thought about the presents in the back, the ones they’d deliver in California.
Thought about the names on the tags. Thought about how many people had no idea what kind of weight their gifts were riding with.
“Sometimes,” he said finally. “But I’d rather be tired than caught off guard.”
“It’s all my fault for stealing,” Kyle finally admitted.
“You returned it. We’re going to be one step ahead of them. I’m not tired of protecting you. I want to do that for you. For us.”
Inside the van, the heater hummed low, and the air smelled faintly of cedar and old upholstery.
Benson had picked this one for a reason—no GPS, no flashy tech, just a reliable engine and a layout that felt like a small cabin on wheels.
The back bench could fold down into a bed, and there was a stash of granola bars and instant coffee tucked into the cabinet.
He’d even thrown in a couple of books, though he doubted either of them would be in the mood to read.
Kyle stretched, then turned to face him. “So what’s next?”
Benson glanced at him, then back at the road. “Next we keep moving. No more skating rinks. No more beer breaks. A few quick deliveries before our next stop in Barstow, and then our final stop is the beach cities.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s gonna be easy.”
Benson smirked. “I say that like I want it to be.”
But deep down, he knew better. Quiet never stayed quiet for long.