Page 13 of Benson
“Do you ever come to places like this on your nights off?” Benson asked, raising his glass.
Kyle nodded. “When I’m looking for someone to hook up with.”
They sat close in a corner booth, their knees bumping under the table. Kyle felt the warmth of the alcohol in his chest, and the steady hum of Benson beside him. It was both grounding and distracting.
Kyle sat stiffly in the cracked vinyl booth, the rainbow lights above flickering in slow pulses like a heartbeat. The bar smelled of old whiskey and new cologne but not exactly comforting. Benson had barely touched his drink when he leaned in and said, “Hey. I need to talk to you about something…serious.”
And just like that, Kyle’s stomach turned to wet concrete.
He looked at Benson’s face for clues, anything soft, anything reassuring, but his expression was unreadable. Panic shot through Kyle fast and bitter. He suddenly hated that they were in Missouri. That they were in a public bar. That he had finally let himself believe, just a little, that maybe Benson wouldn’t be like everyone else.
He’s gonna leave me here. The thought was loud and mean and stupid, but it was also familiar. It was the same voice that used to whisper to him in the dark bunk at the placement center back in New York, when he was just some orphan kid with nobody to call if he got scared. That voice had been louder today after visiting the home for girls. The chipped paint, the weirdly quiet halls, the smell of reheated hot dogs—all of it had scraped old bruises raw. He didn’t want Benson to know about the painful memories from his past, the ones still haunting him in the quiet of the night.
Kyle blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. Fat, ridiculous ones that made him clench his fists under the tableand blurred Benson’s face. He looked away, trying to be subtle about wiping his cheek on his sleeve, but it was no use.
“I—I can’t do this again,” Kyle said, barely above a whisper. “Not here. Not like this.”
Benson knit his brows together, and then everything about him shifted—his voice, his posture, even the way he looked at Kyle. “Whoa, hey. I’m not leaving you. That’s not what this is.”
Kyle said nothing. He couldn’t trust his voice not to crack.
Benson touched his hand, grounding and warm. “I wanted to tell you…I want to take you to California. We’re both heading there anyway, right? So, I thought—what if we just did it together?”
Kyle blinked, confused. “Take me to California with you?”
“Like a road trip,” Benson said, smiling now, just a little. “Together. And…dating. While we’re driving across the country.”
Kyle stared at him, waiting for the catch. But Benson just kept smiling with a patient, stubborn kind of softness Kyle wasn’t used to.
“You want to date me in a truck across the Midwest?” Kyle said, voice hoarse.
Benson nodded. “Yeah. I think we could do that.”
Kyle snorted—half sob, half laugh. His chest still ached, but maybe it could ache a little less tomorrow.
“And I was thinking about what you told me about Daddy Michael.”
“You remember what I said?”
“What I didn’t tell you at the time was I enjoy having a boy to take care of. And I would love it if you would call me Daddy Benson when we’re alone.”
“Do you want to be my Daddy Benson for the drive?”
“Yes, and I’ll explain what I expect from you as my boy. Then you would have me to take care of you.”
“So, you want to try me out first on the drive to California?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it that way, but I want us to begin that type of relationship. We could talk about how our relationship would work with me being your daddy.”
“And does that include sleeping in the same bed, Daddy Benson?”
“Only if you agree to that aspect. I’d like you next to me.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of Daddy Benson’s suggestion. Was it real, or did he want to mess with his feelings and then dump him in California? Time would tell, but at least he’d get to know him and arrive at his destination.
“I hope we can, Daddy Benson,” Kyle whispered across the booth.
Later, when a slower song came on, Daddy Benson stood and held out a hand.
