Page 32 of Benson
Benson had arranged for a driver to return the truck to New York. Too many eyes on them lately. He’d spotted a car tailing them back at the hospital and at the stop before, the same one that showed up outside the diner. He didn’t like patterns. He opened the driver’s door of the van.
It was clean, nondescript. No logos, no flash. Just a plain white shell with tinted windows and a quiet hum. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy—two bucket seats up front, a bench seat behind, and a small built-in cabinet with snacks and bottled water. The back had a fold-out mattress, a couple of fleece blankets, and a portable heater humming softly. Benson had made sure it was stocked for comfort, not just function. Benson spotted them as soon as he stepped back onto the rink—Kyle, flushed and laughing, sitting way too close to some guy at one of those flimsy plastic tables near the snack bar. Kyle’s skates were gone, his boots back on, a half-empty beer in hand. And the guy—Andy he later learned—was leaning in like they’d known each other longer than the fifteen minutes Benson had been gone.
Benson grabbed his own beer at the bar, trying not to let the twist in his gut show. He walked over, slow and casually, but his heart was doing something stupid in his chest. There were only two chairs. Of course, there were only two chairs.
He stood there, beer in hand, arms crossed. “Who’s this?” he asked, voice light but tight.
Kyle looked up, smile still lingering. “This is Andy. I knocked him over on the rink, so I bought him a beer.”
Benson blinked. Bought him a beer? That was new. Kyle didn’t usually do the whole chivalry thing. Not for strangers.
Andy turned toward him, friendly enough. “Hey. I’m Andy.”
Benson nodded, jaw tight. “Benson.”
He didn’t offer his hand. Just stood there, trying to figure out if Andy was actually cute or if jealousy was making him see things. Probably both.
Kyle gestured vaguely at the table. “Sorry, there’s only two chairs.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Benson said, taking a sip of his beer. He stayed standing, feeling like the third wheel in a story he hadn’t been invited to.
Andy glanced between them, sensing something. “You guys know each other?”
Kyle hesitated. “Yeah. We’ve been traveling together.”
Benson let out a short laugh. “Sure. That’s it.”
Kyle looked up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Benson shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing. Just…didn’t know you were in the habit of buying beers for guys you knock over.”
Kyle’s face softened, but he didn’t look away. “It was just a friendly gesture. He hit the floor pretty hard.”
Andy, bless him, looked uncomfortable. “I can go if this is weird—”
“No,” Kyle said quickly. “You don’t have to go.”
Benson felt that one like a slap. He looked at Kyle, really looked at him, and saw the flush in his cheeks wasn’t just fromskating. There was something else there—something warm, something open.
And Benson hated how much he wanted that warmth to be for him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna finish this standing, I guess.”
Kyle’s eyes flicked to the empty space beside him, then back to Benson. “You could’ve sat on my lap.”
It was a joke. Probably. But Benson’s heart stuttered anyway.
Andy smiled awkwardly. “I think I’m intruding.”
Kyle shook his head. “You’re not.”
But Benson was already backing up a step. “I’ll give you guys some space.”
Kyle stood up then, sudden and sharp. “Benson, wait.”
Benson paused, beer halfway to his lips. “Why?”
Kyle looked torn, like he didn’t know which way to lean. “Because I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t welcome.”
