Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kyle
Newport Beach, California
The sun hung low over the Pacific, casting golden light across the waves as Kyle and Juan walked barefoot down to the beach.
Kyle carried two towels slung over his shoulder and Juan had a speaker tucked under his arm, already queuing up music that pulsed with summer energy.
The water was warm, the breeze soft, and for a moment, Kyle let himself believe he could outrun the ache in his chest.
They swam for a while, diving through the surf, laughing as the waves knocked them off balance. Juan was lighthearted, easy to be around, and Kyle was grateful for that. But even in the laughter, the constant ache lingered.
After a while, they sat on the sand, towels wrapped around their shoulders, watching the tide roll in.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I met someone on my way to California,” Kyle said suddenly, voice low.
Juan looked over, curious but gentle. “And?”
Kyle nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “He drove a truck. Delivered presents all over. I was hitchhiking in the snow in New York, and he picked me up. We drove across the country together.”
Juan didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
“His name’s Benson,” Kyle continued. “He lives in Michigan. He couldn’t move here. And I wasn’t ready to leave California. I wanted to give this place a chance. I thought I needed it.”
He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I sent him an ‘I love you’ text. He never answered.”
Juan’s expression softened. “That’s rough.”
Kyle nodded, the words catching in his chest. “I miss him. More than I thought I would. More than I know how to carry.”
Juan leaned back on his elbows. “You ever think maybe he didn’t know what to say?”
“All the time,” Kyle whispered. “But it still hurts.”
They sat in silence for a while, the waves filling the space between them. Then Juan spoke again, quieter this time. “I used to be in love with someone too. Back in Miami. He was a dancer. We were good together, but he wanted something steadier. I wasn’t ready. I left. He didn’t chase me.”
Kyle looked at him. “Do you regret it?”
Juan shrugged. “Sometimes. But I also know I wasn’t ready to be who he needed. Doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”
Kyle nodded slowly, the words settling deep.
Later, back at the condo, they practiced new steps in the living room—Juan counting out loud, Kyle laughing when he missed a beat. The music played low, and the rhythm gave Kyle something to hold on to. Something that felt like movement, even if his heart was still stuck in place.
After a while, Kyle wiped sweat from his brow and said, “There are drinks in the fridge. Grab whatever you want.”
Juan walked into the kitchen. A moment later, he screamed.
Kyle rushed in, heart pounding. “What’s going on?”
Juan turned, eyes wide, holding something in his hand. “This was in the freezer.”
It was a one-way ticket to Michigan. Kyle stared at it, breath caught.
Juan handed it to him slowly. “That’s a sign, bro.”
Kyle looked down at the ticket, fingers trembling. It was an open ticket to Michigan. Maybe he’d bought it in a moment of hope. Maybe he’d forgotten all about it. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to remember. He looked at Juan, who nodded once, steady and sure.
“You know what you have to do, don’t you?”
“Maybe he was so sure I’d leave with him, then when I said I wasn’t ready he threw it in the freezer. I don’t know what this all means now.”
“You have a premium job here, and it’s beautiful all year. But he’s offering you a home and a life with him. He wants you. Don’t ghost him.”
And Kyle felt something shift, as if the ache wasn’t meant to be carried forever. Maybe his dilemma was resolved by taking a chance. He loved Daddy Benson.
“Then why didn’t he answer my text last night?”
“Maybe it didn’t go through, or he didn’t check his messages.”
“Benson checks everything. Nothing gets past him. I don’t know what to do.”
“You need to get dressed for work tonight. Tomorrow we’re off, and you can decide if you want to be with him or stay here. You can’t be in two places.”
Kyle’s heart was already pounding as he raced to the bedroom, Juan close behind, the creak of the floorboards echoing beneath their feet like a warning. Kyle snatched his phone from the charger on the nightstand, hands trembling slightly.
He hadn’t checked it since they’d gone swimming. It had been charging, forgotten in the bedroom while he let himself pretend—for just a few hours—that he wasn’t waiting. He unlocked the screen and opened his messages first, thumb moving fast.
“Anything?” Juan asked, breathless behind him.
Kyle shook his head. “No texts. No voicemails.”
His chest tightened. He’d sent Benson a love text. He’d waited. And now, nothing. The silence felt louder than ever.
“Check recent calls,” Juan whispered.
Kyle hesitated, then tapped the icon. His breath caught.
There it was.
Benson McCoy — Missed Call.
Kyle stared at the screen; the timestamp was clear. Benson had called while they were at the beach. While he was laughing in the waves, trying to forget. While his phone sat silent and charging, Benson had reached out.
And Kyle hadn’t been there.
A wave of emotion crashed over him—regret, disbelief, a sharp ache that settled in his chest like a bruise. He’d wanted Benson to call. Had imagined it. Had longed for it. And now, the moment had come and gone unnoticed.
He felt sick. Like he’d missed something sacred.
“He called,” Kyle whispered, voice cracking.
Juan stepped closer, reading the screen over his shoulder. “Then it’s not over.”
But Kyle couldn’t speak. He just stared at the missed call, heart aching with the weight of what might have been said, what might still be waiting.
And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel like rejection—it felt like a chance he hadn’t known he’d been given.
Kyle sat on the edge of his bed, the missed call from Benson still glowing on his screen like a question he didn’t know how to answer.
“See you at the club. Got to go.”
“Thanks for listening. See you later.”
The condo was empty now that Juan and his music were gone, and the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner. He stared at the phone, thumb hovering over Benson’s name.
He didn’t think. He just tapped “Call.”
The line rang once. Then twice. Then again.
Kyle held his breath, heart thudding in his chest. Maybe Benson would pick up. Maybe he’d say his name in that steady, low voice that always made Kyle feel like he belonged somewhere.
But then the voicemail clicked on.
Kyle froze.
The automated message played, familiar and distant. He could speak. He could say something. He could tell Benson he saw the missed call, that he was sorry, that he missed him more than he knew how to say.
But the words wouldn’t come.
He waited in silence as the seconds ticked by, then he ended the call without leaving a message.
His hand dropped to his lap, phone still warm in his palm. The silence felt heavier now—like something he’d chosen, even though it hurt.
Kyle lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Benson had been nervous when he called. Wondering if he’d hoped Kyle would answer. Wondering if he’d felt the same ache Kyle felt now.
He didn’t know what came next. He knew the distance between them had never felt so large.