Chapter Thirty-One
Kyle
Newport Beach, California
The moment Benson left, Kyle knew something had to change, but it was in this very moment, sitting behind his vanity in the dressing room at Bun Boys that his decision became clear. He couldn’t stay. Not in California. Not in this version of his life.
He had arrived in California with a dream that felt as big and bright as the sun itself—to dance.
It was a dream that had finally come to life on the stages of California.
He had made friends, a chosen family of fellow dancers and performers who understood the language of movement and the rhythm of a shared passion.
Even in the short time, they had laughed, struggled, and triumphed together, creating memories he would always cherish.
Leaving California was a bittersweet thought.
This was the life he’d always dreamed of, but it was also a life filled with the ache of separation.
A new dream was calling him, a more profound one.
He was ready to trade the spotlight for a life with Benson, a life he knew would be his greatest performance yet.
He walked down the narrow hallway to Mr. Myers’ office. The door was open; the older man hunched over payroll sheets. Kyle knocked softly.
“I need to quit,” he said, voice low but steady. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you going back to New York City?”
“No, I’m going to take a risk on love. He’s in Michigan, and that’s where I need to be. Thank you for giving me memories for a lifetime, memories of feeling worthy and confident. I now know I can get a job and do well. I’ve loved it here, but love kidnapped me. I need to be with my boyfriend.”
Mr. Myers looked up, eyes kind. “I understand,” he said. “If you ever need a dancing job again, you call me.” He wrote a check out to Kyle for the days he’d worked.
“Thank you.”
Kyle nodded, throat tight. Mr. Myers stood and hugged him—brief, firm, fatherly. It meant more to Kyle than expected.
Outside, Juan was waiting by his motorcycle, helmet in hand. Kyle climbed on behind him, arms around his friend’s waist, the wind already tugging at his hoodie. The ride was not a long one, but Kyle knew what he had to do.
Kyle stood in front of the condo, the ocean humming softly behind him, the sky still dark but beginning to hint at the morning. Juan’s motorcycle idled at the curb; its low rumble was the only sound besides the waves.
As Kyle returned the helmet to Juan, he said, “I’m leaving California.”
Juan jumped off the motorcycle and stepped up beside him, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes scanned Kyle’s face, searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe hesitation.
“Are you sure about this?” Juan asked, voice low.
Kyle nodded, though his chest felt tight. “Yeah. I have to go. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay here. I miss him. I miss what it felt like to be with someone who saw me.”
“Did you quit the Bun Boys?”
Kyle nodded. “I told Mr. Myers and thanked him. He said I have a job waiting if I return.”
Juan exhaled slowly, then gave a crooked smile. “You’re chasing love. That’s brave, man. Most people just settle for what’s easy.”
Kyle looked down. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels like I’m walking into something I might not be wanted in.”
Juan shrugged. “Maybe. But you’ll know. And that’s better than wondering for the rest of your life.”
Kyle met his eyes. “You’re not mad?”
“I’m sad,” Juan said. “You’re my new best friend. Bun Boys won’t be the same without you. But I’d be more pissed if you stayed and let your heart rot.”
Kyle laughed softly, the sound catching in his throat. “You always know what to say.”
Juan stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, grounding Kyle. “Go find out, Kyle. Go see if he’s waiting. And if he’s not, you’ll still have yourself. That’s worth something.”
Kyle held on a moment longer, then stepped back. “Thanks for everything. For rides. For listening. For not judging. And finding that frozen ticket. That was life-changing.”
Juan grinned. “You were never boring, Kyle. And so much fun to be around. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too. Keep in touch.”
Kyle stood there, arms crossed, watching Juan go.
The condo, the ocean, the porch light—they all blurred behind him as the motorcycle pulled away.
And Kyle whispered to himself, “Let this be the start of something real.”
At three in the morning, Kyle was surrounded by half-zipped bags and scattered clothes. The condo was quiet—the kind that made every sound feel louder. He paused by the sliding glass doors, looking out at the ocean. The waves shimmered under the moonlight, soft and endless.
“Goodbye, California,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything. Even the hard parts.”
He called an Uber, then stood in the doorway one last time, letting the salt air fill his lungs. It was less than an hour’s drive at this hour with little traffic.
LAX was half-asleep, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Kyle stood in line, backpack slung over his shoulder, hoodie pulled tight.
“When’s the next flight to Pellston Regional Airport?” he asked the attendant.
“Twenty minutes,” she said. “You just made it. But you have one stop in Detroit.”
“How long is the flight?”
“Eight hours and thirty-eight minutes, which includes your stopover.”
Kyle nodded and handed her the ticket voucher.
She checked him in quickly, and he walked toward the gate, heart thudding.
The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the air smelled like coffee, jet fuel, and nerves.
He’d never flown before. Not once. Not even as a kid.
And now he was about to be suspended in the sky for eight hours and thirty-eight minutes—long enough to rethink everything, long enough to feel every inch of distance between California and Michigan.
No time to back out. No time to second-guess.
Just a boarding pass and a gate number and the panic of stepping into the unknown.
The plane waited like a promise—unwritten, uncertain, but his.
As he settled into his seat, Kyle buckled the belt with trembling hands.
The cabin was dim, with the hum of the engines already vibrating through the floor.
He stared out the window, watching the tarmac blur under the early morning light.
His palms were damp. His chest felt tight.
He tried to breathe evenly, but the fear crept in any way—what if the plane dropped?
What if he couldn’t handle the altitude, the confinement, the sheer unnaturalness of flying?
But beneath the fear, something stronger pulsed: love.
He didn’t know what Michigan would bring. He didn’t know if he’d be met with silence and closed doors. But he knew he had to try. Benson wasn’t just someone he cared about—he was someone Kyle needed. Needed in a way that made his chest ache, in a way that made him leave behind his other dream.
Kyle loved Benson with his entire being. Not the kind of love that was easy or convenient, but the kind that made you pack your life into a bag and board a plane for the first time in your life. The kind that made you risk rejection just to stand in front of someone and say, I choose you.
As the plane taxied down the runway, Kyle gripped the armrest and whispered to himself, “Please let this be worth it.”
And somewhere between fear and hope, the plane lifted off.