Page 37 of Benson
“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 charmingneon 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.
