Page 31 of Benson
Daddy Benson hummed to the radio, still in the Santa hat, one hand loose on the wheel. His gaze flicked to Kyle, lingered for a beat too long, then returned to the road.
“You know you’re still dressed like Santa, right?” Kyle asked.
“Santa’s hungry,” Daddy Benson said, but his mouth curved like he knew Kyle wasn’t just making small talk. He stopped at a Mexican restaurant where the menus were so sticky they might’ve been laminated in salsa.
Daddy Benson ordered steak fajitas in full Santa voice, making the waitress raise a brow and a guy in the next booth snort. Kyle ordered chicken fajitas.
“You’re gonna get us banned,” Kyle said, reaching for a chip.
Daddy Benson caught his wrist, just enough for Kyle to feel the quiet weight of it before dipping the chip into the salsa. “Santa rewards patience.” His thumb brushed the inside of Kyle’s wrist as he let go, casual enough to be deniable, deliberate enough to leave heat throughout his body.
The restaurant was warm and noisy, but Kyle’s focus kept drifting back to Daddy Benson—the way his forearms looked with his Santa sleeves pushed up, the way his mouth curved when he laughed.
Daddy Benson started talking about the girl with the stuffed bear.
“She reminded me of a girl in one of the shelters,” Kyle said.
“The way she held onto that toy…like letting go would make it real,” Daddy Benson added.
Kyle’s throat tightened. He nodded, but half his mind was already in California—beaches, trails. It was supposed to be his clean slate.
Daddy Benson’s gaze found him again, steady and searching, like he could see the split in Kyle’s thoughts. He didn’t say anything, but something in his eyes made Kyle feel known.
And that was the dangerous part.
Daddy Benson’s rhythm was Michigan—snow, family dinners, roots Kyle had never had. And Kyle didn’t know if he could be the reason someone left that behind. Didn’t know if Daddy Benson would even want to. He went back and forth between living in California or following Daddy Benson to Michigan. Nothing was a done deal, but he loved Benson, and he had said he loved him too for the first time. That much was real.
They stood to leave, Daddy Benson grabbing the bill.
Outside, the air was warmer as they went west.
He stepped aside, letting Kyle pass first, his hand at the small of Kyle’s back in that quiet, steady way that felt nothing like small talk.
Kyle swallowed against the lump in his throat, telling himself the heat in his chest was from the warmer temperature. But he knew better. Then he saw the same car with the same two people sitting in it.
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 thoughtrepeatedly 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.
