Page 40 of Benson
“He’s agreed not to raise rents,” Daddy Benson said. “And he’s giving me free rein on the condos and apartments. I didn’t think he’d budge, but…I guess he did.”
Kyle nodded slowly, letting that sink in. It was more than business—it was Daddy Benson choosing a different kind of future without them together in California. He should have known he wouldn’t leave Michigan. The fact was, he had never given his word to move to California, but he had promised they would be together. A sense of dread washed over him as something felt terribly wrong. After a single phone call, he’d made a snap decision, completely disregarding Kyle’s input. He couldn’t understand if the anger was burning, or the hurt was cutting him, or maybe, the two were one.
“And,” Daddy Benson added, “my family wants me home for Christmas. They asked if you’d come with me. If you’d be willing to leave tomorrow morning. Move in with me.”
Kyle watched as the waves rolled in. They crawled deliberately, like they were thinking too—like they understood the weight in his chest and didn’t mind carrying it for a while. The horizon shimmered, soft and unreachable, and for a moment, he saw it—his dream. Not the kind you chase with urgency, but the kind that waits quietly, patiently, until you’re brave enough to step toward it.
But even as the image formed, something inside him curled in on itself. That familiar ache. The one that came when someone asked him to leave before he was ready. When love came with a deadline.
He didn’t say it out loud, but it was there tight in his throat, heavy behind his ribs. That feeling of being left behind, even when someone was reaching for him. Daddy Benson’s offer had been tender, sincere, but it still felt like a door swinging open without asking if Kyle was ready to walk through it.
He hated that part of himself—the one that flinched when things got too close. The one who had learned over time that good things didn’t always stay, knew it from experience. Sometimes, even love asks you to pack up and move before you’d found your footing.
The waves kept rolling in, steady and indifferent. Kyle watched them, letting the silence stretch. He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. But somewhere deep inside, he felt it again—that quiet, familiar echo of being asked to choose between what he needed and what someone else wanted.
And once again, he felt alone in it.
Daddy Benson leaned in and kissed him, soft and certain. Kyle kissed back, eyes closed, heart open. It felt like a promise. “I love you, Kyle.”
But when they pulled apart, Kyle exhaled and said quietly, “I want to give this a chance first. Here. I can’t leave tomorrow.”
Daddy Benson didn’t argue. He just nodded, and they stood together, brushing sand from their clothes, walking back to the condo in silence. Not the heavy kind—just the kind that holds space.
Later, they sat under the tree in the living room, the lights blinking above them. Kyle leaned back against the couch, close enough to feel Daddy Benson’s warmth beside him. No words, just the quiet hum of something real, still unfolding. Kyle sat with his knees pulled up, arms loosely wrapped around them, while Daddy Benson leaned back beside him, legs stretched out, hands resting on his own knees like he needed something solid.
Kyle watched the way the Christmas lights on the tree moved, the way they flickered through them like it was trying to say something he couldn’t quite hear. His chest felt full—not heavy, not light, just full. Like everything he’d ever wanted was suddenly within reach, and he wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to grab it.
He thought about the beach, about Daddy Benson’s kiss, about the way the waves had mirrored the rhythm of his heart. He thought about the offer—leave tomorrow, move in, and start something real. Not that he didn’t want it. He did. God, he did. But something in him needed to stay, just a little longer. Needed to prove to himself that he could build something here first, before folding into someone else’s world.
Daddy Benson didn’t push. He just sat there, quiet, present. Kyle glanced over and saw the way his jaw was set—not angry, just holding something in. Maybe disappointment. Maybe patience.
“I’m not saying no,” Kyle said finally, voice low. “I’m just saying…not yet.”
Daddy Benson nodded, eyes still on the tree ornaments above. “I get it.”
And Kyle believed him. That was the thing—he believed Daddy Benson meant it. That he’d wait. That he’d still be there when Kyle was ready.
They stayed like that for a while, the silence stretching between them like a thin thread, but strong. Kyle closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet settle into his bones. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but tonight, under the tree, he felt a piece of himself leave. He worried he might lose himself completely without Daddy Benson.
The living room was lit only by the Christmas lights and the flicker of something muted on the TV. Kyle could feel the tension between them, not sharp, but heavy like a question that had already been asked too many times.
Daddy Benson turned to him, voice low. “Are you sure you won’t leave with me in the morning?”
Kyle’s gaze stayed fixed on the patch of floor between them, as if the grain of the wood might offer him some kind of anchor.His voice came out low, almost apologetic. “My answer’s the same,” he said. “I’m not ready to leave.”
When he finally lifted his eyes, the look on Benson’s face hit him like a punch to the chest. There was no anger there—just a quiet sadness, raw and unguarded. Daddy Benson’s eyes, usually steady and full of silent strength, shimmered with something fragile. Disappointment, maybe. Or worse—hurt. The kind that settled deep and didn’t speak loudly but lingered in the silence between words.
Kyle felt it immediately—that twist in his gut. He hated that look. Hated that he was the one who’d put it there. Daddy Benson had always been the one who made space for Kyle even when Kyle couldn’t ask for it. And now, Kyle was choosing something that felt like distance. Like rejection.
But he had to. He needed to know who he was without leaning on Daddy Benson’s steadiness. Needed to find out if he could stand on his own without the reassurance of someone always catching him. It wasn’t about pushing Daddy Benson away—it was about reaching for something he hadn’t yet proven to himself.
Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier. The pain in Daddy Benson’s eyes stayed with him, even as he tried to hold his ground. It was the kind of pain that made Kyle want to take it all back, just to make Daddy Benson smile again. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not this time.
There were no arguments. No sighs. Daddy Benson just stood, walked to the bedroom, and closed the door behind him. Kyle sat there, listening. The muffled sound of Daddy Benson’s voice filtered through the wall—calm, clipped, the cadence of someone making travel arrangements. Michigan. He was going back.
Kyle didn’t move. He felt hollow, as if something had been scooped out of him. He hadn’t meant to hurt Daddy Benson.He just wasn’t ready—not to leave, not to leap, not to follow someone when he still didn’t know what his destiny was.
The bedroom door stayed closed. Daddy Benson didn’t come back.
