Page 62 of Benson
“I wonder what happened to it.”
“My brother went through my phone and probably deleted it,” Benson admitted, the bitterness in his tone cutting sharper than he meant it to.
Kyle drew back, searching his face. “Why would he do that?”
“It’s a long story,” Benson muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t want to stain this moment with Logan’s poison. “We’ll talk about it another time. But I called you, Kyle. More than once. You never answered.”
Kyle blinked. “You didn’t leave a voicemail.”
Benson’s mouth twisted. “No. I thought…maybe you’d moved on.” The words scraped his throat. He hated how small they sounded, but that fear had lived in him every day—watching life go on without him, imagining Kyle smiling at someone else the way he used to smile at him.
“Never.” Kyle’s answer came without hesitation, his eyes fierce, steady. “I got a dancing job in Costa Mesa. I worked for a few days. They loved me, and I made some friends among the dancers.”
Benson blinked at him, pride and panic colliding in his chest. Kyle was brilliant, magnetic—of course people saw it. Of course, the world wanted him. “So fast?” he whispered. He tried to sound amazed, but underneath, the fear gnawed—what if California could give Kyle more than Benson ever could? What if he couldn’t compete with the bright lights and endless chances waiting for him?
But then Kyle’s arms tightened around him, and Benson felt the steady, grounding truth—Kyle had chosen to be herein this snow-covered town, snuggled tightly in his arms, not under some dazzling stage light. Relief swelled in him so strong it almost hurt. Whatever the world was offering, Kyle wanted this—wanted him. And in that moment, Benson knew his boy had come home to him because he was ready to love him in Michigan. For now, Kyle’s choice meant the world to him, and by the looks of Kyle, it meant even more.
The End
