Page 9 of Benson
Ohio
Kyle woke up cradling the teddy bear like it was some kind of fragile relic. His fingers were curled tight around the plush paw, the softness grounding him more than the stiff motel mattress ever could. The room smelled faintly of steam andcheap soap. Benson had already showered, dressed, and was pulling on his boots like it was any other morning.
“You’ve got fifteen to clean up and dress,” Benson said, his tone brisk but not harsh. Just enough to nudge, not shove.
Kyle nodded, sat up groggily, then padded to the bathroom, still holding the bear like it might vanish if he let go. The shower was quick. He didn’t linger like he sometimes did when he needed a mental reset. Benson was waiting, and even though Kyle couldn’t name the feeling exactly, something about that made him move faster.
Back in the truck, seat belt tugged snug, Kyle kept the bear in his lap. It was a silly thing, maybe, for someone his age. But it was a gift from Benson. And that alone made it feel different. More like it had weight. Like it meant something.
“Do you have a family?” Kyle asked, watching Benson’s knuckles flex on the steering wheel. A nagging desire to learn more about Benson filled Kyle’s thoughts. Benson was not a man of many words, but he was clear and direct when he admitted he was gay. Kyle wondered if he regretted sharing such an intimate detail, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he questioned his decision to ask.
Benson paused just long enough for Kyle to notice. “Yeah. Out of state.”
That was it. No names. No details. Just a vague smudge where a story might’ve been. Kyle didn’t push. He understood quiet boundaries better than most.
“Did you ever have a boyfriend?” Benson asked, shifting the conversation like he was steering around a pothole.
Kyle’s breath caught just a little. Not because he hadn’t expected the question, but because answering meant opening a drawer he usually kept locked. “There was someone,” Kyle said, eyes down. “He was kind of in charge, you know? Took care of stuff. Me. But it came with rules. Structure.” He hesitated. “Icalled him Daddy Michael.” The name slipped out softer than he meant it to, like it still had gravity.
Kyle could feel the question hanging in the air between them, heavy with silent judgment. So he added quickly, “I know that sounds weird. Maybe too much. I just…” He glanced sideways, trying to read Benson’s expression. “I worry people won’t get it. That they’ll think it makes me…less.”
Benson didn’t say anything. Just nodded, eyes still on the road as if he had thoughts tucked away and neatly out of sight. Who was he? What if he wasn’t a truck driver? No trucker vibes surrounded him…so why was he driving a truck full of Christmas presents?
Kyle’s stomach growled while he drank the fresh coffee Benson had given him when they entered the truck.
“Someone in this truck is hungry,” Benson teased.
“I’ll be okay.” The last thing Kyle wanted was for Benson to alter his schedule. It was clear he wanted to stick to whatever his plan was.
As soon as the next restaurant sign appeared on the side of the highway, Benson turned onto the ramp. The smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee hit them as they stepped into the restaurant. Kyle followed Benson in, the bear still cradled under one arm like muscle memory.
The little restaurant had gone full throttle on the holiday spirit, and Kyle kind of loved it. Tinsel zigzagged across the ceiling like sparkling vines; half tangled in the faux icicles dangling from the air vents. A plastic reindeer stood proudly near the entrance, wearing a faded red bow that looked like it had seen twenty Christmases. The booths had little centerpieces made from pinecones spray-painted gold, tucked into cheap red baskets with flickering LED candles that tried their best to look real.
Someone had draped a string of colored lights around the pie display case, and every so often, the green one blinked like it couldn’t decide if it was burned out or just shy.
Kyle’s eyes kept drifting to a crooked paper Santa face taped to the napkin dispenser. He wondered who had made it and whether they’d gotten extra hot chocolate for the effort. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt warm in a way he hadn’t expected. Like the place was trying to wrap itself around its customers with a big, glittery hug.
Kyle slid into a booth across from Benson, setting the teddy bear down beside him like it deserved its own seat. The morning sunlight caught the edge of Kyle’s glass. He stared at the reflection, then noticed the vinyl booths had patched-up tears, and a jukebox hummed to itself in the corner. The small waiting area buzzed with the hushed whispers and nervous energy of people waiting to be seated.
He felt cracked open—not exposed like a wound, but aired out like something he didn’t have to hide, or at least not completely.
He wasn’t sure what Benson thought of everything he’d said. Maybe he was just decent at keeping things calm on the surface. Or just maybe he didn’t mind. And for Kyle, right then, that was enough. He feared Benson would drop him off on the side of the highway if he said something he didn’t like. With Benson’s comforting presence across from him, he felt a sense of peace he didn’t want to lose.
The server offered a practiced smile, the kind that felt strained and polite, yet lacked genuine warmth.
She poured water into red plastic glasses and dropped off two menus with a clack, one landing half in Kyle’s lap.
Benson didn’t look fazed, just flipped his menu open and started scanning it as if he hadn’t just heard Kyle use the word “Daddy” like it belonged in the past tense.
Kyle tried to do the same. He stared at the menu, though none of the words really sank in. His head was buzzing, not painful, just with that low-frequency hum of vulnerability that crept in after saying too much.
He hadn’t meant to open up that far. The whole Daddy Michael thing wasn’t something he would have mentioned before breakfast or ever unless the other person was part of that lifestyle. But Benson had asked. And Kyle wasn’t great at half-truths; he operated on all or nothing. He never spoke of his childhood, crafting a fabricated history so mundane and unremarkable that no one would suspect it was false.
He watched Benson’s expression closely, looking for the smallest change like the tightening of the jaw, a flicker of discomfort in the eyes, or pretty much anything. Benson stayed unreadable, his mouth moving silently as he browsed the breakfast specials like this was all normal.
Kyle shifted in his seat, hugging the bear a little closer. It felt like every eye in the place could spot him as someone who carried around plush animals and called ex-boyfriends Daddy. Of course, it was all in his head. No one looked at him or the bear, because he was invisible to most unless he was dancing.
Benson finally looked up. “Do you eat eggs?”
