Chapter Eighteen
Benson
Arizona
Benson sat on the edge of the mattress in the back of the van, the air still thick with everything he’d said and done.
His voice had been sharp, louder than he meant it to be, but damn it—Kyle had scared the hell out of him.
Told him to stay on the rink, just skate while he made that swap.
Simple. But Kyle didn’t listen. Instead, he’d ended up sharing a drink with a stranger.
Some guy Benson didn’t know, didn’t trust. And that was the part that twisted in his gut.
He had to draw the line with Kyle from the very beginning so he knew what was okay and not.
He glanced over at Kyle, curled up against the wall, arms tucked tight around his knees like he was bracing for another round.
Benson hated that look. That small, guarded thing Kyle did when he thought he’d messed up too bad to be forgiven.
He pulled a bottle of water from the mini-refrigerator and handed it to Kyle who was still wiping his tears.
Benson exhaled, slow and heavy, then shifted closer. The mattress dipped under his weight. “Hey,” he said, voice low now, softer. “I didn’t paddle you because I don’t care. I had to because I do.”
Kyle didn’t look up right away, just blinked at the blanket like it might offer some kind of answer. Benson reached out, brushed his fingers along Kyle’s arm, then let his hand settle there. Warm. Steady.
“I was scared something bad had happened to you,” Benson admitted. “You didn’t listen, and I didn’t know where you were at first, and then I see you with some guy I’ve never seen before, drinking God knows what, and I just—” He paused, rubbed the back of Kyle’s neck. “I lost it.”
Kyle finally looked at him, eyes rimmed red but open. “I didn’t mean to mess up. I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“I don’t,” Benson said, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to Kyle’s temple. “I’ll never leave you, even if you fucked up big time.”
Kyle nodded, slow. “I just felt…you were going to leave me there. Like you were pulling away.”
Benson’s chest tightened. He slid his hand up to Kyle’s cheek, thumb brushing gently under his eye. “I’m not pulling away. Not ever. You could screw up a hundred times, and I’d still be here. Still love you.”
“Why were you so quiet then?”
“I was angry, and I needed to calm down before I said things I’d regret later. As your daddy, I can’t discipline you in anger. Ever. That’s wrong. I did what I had to do. But don’t take my silence as me moving away from you. I just needed some quiet space.”
Kyle’s breath hitched, and Benson leaned in again, this time kissing him full on the mouth. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just quiet and sure. He let his hand drift down Kyle’s side, grounding him, reminding him he was real and wanted.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” Kyle whispered against his lips.
“I’m sorry I kept silent because you saw it as me abandoning you,” Benson murmured back. “But I’m not sorry I care.”
They stayed like that for a while, tangled up in silence and soft touches, the van rocking gently in the wind outside. Benson didn’t need to say anything else. Kyle knew. And that was enough.
Barstow, California
After delivering presents at several shelters in Barstow, they parked and changed into jeans and a top. The weather was warm, so they didn’t need jackets anymore.
Benson had expected little from Barstow.
Just a pit stop, really dusty roads, chain motels, and that weirdly charming neon sign outside the pub they ended up at for dinner.
The place smelled like fried onions and old beer, but the burgers were decent, and Kyle laughed at something the server said, which felt like a minor miracle.
After they ate, Benson leaned back in the booth, watching Kyle pick at the last of his fries. “You ever been horseback riding?” he asked, half on a whim. He wanted to bring a smile back onto Kyle’s face again.
Kyle blinked, then shrugged. “Not since I was a kid. Why?”
“Because we’re in Barstow,” Benson said, grinning. “And there’s literally nothing else to do.”
Kyle gave a tired smile. “Sure. Why not?”
They found a ranch just outside town that rented horses by the hour.
Benson ended up on a chestnut gelding named Whiskey, who had a slow, steady gait and a habit of snorting like he was unimpressed with everything.
Kyle got a speckled mare named Junebug, who kept trying to veer off the trail to nibble at scrubby bushes.
The desert air was cooler than Benson expected, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across the dry hills. The horses’ hooves made soft thuds against the packed earth, and for a while, they just rode in silence, the kind that felt companionable but heavy.
Eventually, Kyle spoke. “It’s weird being in California.”
Benson glanced over. “Yeah. I keep thinking I should like it more than I do.”
Kyle nodded, reins loose in his hands. “It’s beautiful, though. I mean, not Barstow. But like…the coast. Santa Barbara. San Diego.”
“Beach cities,” Benson said. “Now that I could get behind. Something about the ocean makes everything feel possible.”
Kyle didn’t answer right away. Junebug tossed her head, and he gently pulled her back on track. “Are you even thinking about moving?”
Benson hesitated. “I don’t know. Feels like I’d be leaving too much behind. Like I’d be starting over without knowing what I’m starting.”
Kyle gave a soft laugh and smiled. “Starting over sounds kind of nice.”
That’s when Benson really looked at him. Kyle’s shoulders were slumped, his face drawn in that way it got when he was trying not to feel too much. Benson felt a twist in his chest—worry, maybe, or guilt for not noticing sooner.
“You okay?” he asked.
Kyle shrugged. “Just tired. Everything feels kind of…stuck.”
Benson wanted to say something comforting, something that would crack the shell Kyle was retreating into. But all he could manage was, “You’re not stuck. You’re just…paused.”
Kyle gave him a sideways glance. “That’s a very Daddy Benson thing to say.”
“Yeah, well,” Benson said, nudging Whiskey forward, “I’m full of poetic nonsense.”
They rode a little longer, the sun bleeding orange across the horizon.
Benson felt the rhythm of the horse beneath him, steady and grounding.
He didn’t know if California was the answer, or if Kyle would ever feel unstuck, but for that moment—just that one—they were moving. And that had to count for something.
Santa Barbara, California
The van rolled into Santa Barbara just as the late afternoon sun began its slow descent, casting a golden haze over the coastline.
Benson leaned forward over the steering wheel, squinting past the windshield smudges.
The ocean stretched out like a lazy dream—blue and endless, with waves that curled and broke as if they had nowhere better to be.
Palm trees lined the road like they were showing off, and the air smelled like salt and citrus and something warm he couldn’t name.
He pulled into a spot near the beach, killed the engine, and sat for a second, letting the quiet settle. Kyle was already unbuckling, grinning like a kid on summer break. “Come on,” he said, nudging Benson’s shoulder. “Let’s go feel the Pacific.”
They kicked off their shoes and peeled off their socks, leaving them in a messy pile in the back of the van.
The sand was cool and soft, the kind that clung to your feet like it didn’t want you to leave.
Benson walked beside Kyle, their shoulders brushing now and then, until they reached the water’s edge.
The ocean lapped at their ankles, cold and electric, and Benson let out a laugh that surprised him.
He loved it here. Too much, maybe.
Kyle turned to him, eyes reflecting the sky. “You look like you’re already halfway moved in.”
Benson smiled. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted. “A lot, actually. California’s got this…pull.”
Kyle didn’t say anything right away. He just watched the waves, hands tucked into his pockets. Benson took a breath, then another, and finally said it.
“But I can’t leave everything behind. My family, the lake, the quiet…it’s all back in Michigan. It’s part of me.”
Kyle nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was letting on. “Yeah. I get that.”
Benson hesitated, then reached out, brushing Kyle’s fingers with his own. “Have you thought more about coming with me? To Michigan?”
Kyle looked at him, really looked at him, and Benson felt like the whole beach had gone still. “You mean…move there? You meant it before?”
“I know it’s a lot,” Benson said quickly. “And I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean it. I just—being with you here feels right. But leaving you here feels wrong.”
Kyle’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, their feet half-submerged in the tide. “You’re not asking me to give up California. You’re asking me to choose you.”
Benson swallowed hard. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Kyle reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Benson’s ear, fingers lingering. “You’re not easy to say no to, you know that?”
Benson laughed, but it cracked a little. “I’m scared you’ll regret it.”
“I’m scared I’ll regret not trying,” Kyle said. “Let’s talk about it. Really talk. But if it means waking up next to you in a place with snow and lakes and quiet mornings…I think I could learn to love Michigan but I’m not sure.”
Benson said nothing for a moment. He just leaned in, forehead resting against Kyle’s, the ocean whispering around them.
The decision wasn’t made, not yet. But the possibility shimmered between them like sunlight on water—fragile, beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, enough.
Then it dawned on him that he would do. He sent an email off to friend in Newport Beach.