Page 42 of Benson
He thought about the compass. About the word etched onto its back.Home.And he wondered if Kyle would ever point it toward him again.
The compass sat heavy in Benson’s pocket as he boarded the plane, its weight far more than metal. Kyle hadn’t said ‘I love you.’ Not when they hugged. Not when they kissed goodbye. Not even when Benson stood in the doorway, eyes burning, heart cracked wide open.
It broke him.
He tried to tell himself it didn’t mean Kyle didn’t feel it. He had said it in Arizona. Maybe Kyle was just scared, or stubborn, or protecting something fragile inside himself. But the silence where those words should’ve been echoed louder than anything else. Benson had given everything—his heart, his plans, his future—and Kyle had kissed him, thanked him, and let him go.
The plane lifted off, and Benson stared out the window, watching the coastline shrink beneath him. He hated this flight. Hated the way the seat beside him was empty. Hated the way his chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left behind in that condo by the sea.
He was flying to Michigan because he had to. Because if he didn’t show up, the board would vote without him. The rents would rise. Families would be forced out. People would lose their homes. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.
But it felt cruel, this choice. Like he was being punished for caring too much in too many directions. He wanted to be the man who stayed. Who chose love. Who built a life with Kyle, slow and steady, like the waves they’d watched together. But instead, he was the man who left. Again.
And Kyle hadn’t asked him to stay or to visit him on his next vacation. Nothing.
That was the part that stung the most. Not just the absence of I love you, but the absence of don’t go.
Benson pressed his forehead against the window, eyes burning. He thought about the envelope he’d tucked under Kyle’s gift, thick with cash, a safety net. He thought about the condo, paid for a month in advance. He’d done everything he could to make Kyle feel supported. Wanted.
But maybe Kyle didn’t want to be wanted. Not like that. Maybe he needed to prove something to himself first. Benson understood that. He respected it. But it didn’t make the ache any less.
He felt foolish. Vulnerable. Like he’d opened his chest and handed over everything inside, only to be met with a gentle smile and a closed door.
He loved Kyle. Deeply. Fiercely. And he didn’t regret having said it. But God, it hurt not to hear it back.
As the plane cut through the clouds, Benson closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He told himself this wasn’t the end. Maybe Kyle would find his way back to him. That maybe, the compass would point home again.
But for now, he was alone. And the silence Kyle left behind was louder than any goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kyle
Newport Beach, California
Kyle sat under the Christmas tree with his teddy bear in his arms long after Daddy Benson’s van disappeared down the road. His chest ached in a way that felt physical, like something had been torn apart. He hadn’t cried in years—not like this. But nowthe tears came freely, soaking the collar of his shirt as he curled his knees to his chest and let the silence swallow him.
He missed Daddy Benson the moment he left. Not just the presence, but the steadiness. The way he looked at him like he was worth being with. The way he said I love you without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Kyle hadn’t said it back.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But something in him froze; old fears, old habits, and the belief love always came with conditions. He needed to prove he could stand on his own. That he could make it without leaning on someone else. Even if it meant hurting the one person who made him feel safe.
Kyle’s phone buzzed against the coffee table, screen flashing with an unknown number. He stared at it for a moment, debating whether to let it ring out. But boredom had a way of making even the smallest mystery feel worth chasing.
He picked up. “Hello?”
“Merry Christmas, Kyle,” said a voice—gruff, familiar, and unexpectedly warm. Mr. Greco.
Kyle sat up straighter, heart thudding. “Mr. Greco?”
“Yeah. It’s me. I got your letter. And the money.” There was a pause, as if Mr. Greco was choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t expect that. Honestly, I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
Kyle swallowed, unsure what to say. He had sent the money order—every dollar he’d taken — with a handwritten letter. Thanks to Daddy Benson.
“I’m sorry I let you go,” Mr. Greco continued. “I should’ve handled things differently. You were good at what you did. Real good.”
Kyle stared at the breaking waves through the sliding glass doors. The room smelled of the pine Christmas tree. He hadn’t expected kindness. Not from Mr. Greco.
