Page 57 of Benson
Benson blinked, stunned. “You don’t even know who I was seeing.”
“Kyle Foster,” his father snapped. “An orphan turned whore. He danced at the Velvet Room. He’s only twenty-two.”
The words hit like ice water. Benson’s breath caught in his throat. “How do you know his name?”
“Logan looked through your phone,” his father said, unapologetic. “I had him investigated. You can do better than that.”
Benson’s hands curled into fists at his sides. The betrayal burned hot—his brother, rifling through his phone like a thief in the night. His father, weaponizing that information with cruel precision. They hadn’t asked. They hadn’t cared. They’d judged Kyle without knowing him, without understanding the gentleness in his voice, the way he listened, the way he made Benson feel seen.
“You need to leave,” Benson said, voice low and steady. “I won’t discuss Kyle with you.”
His father scoffed, but Benson didn’t flinch. He stood firm, the ache in his chest sharp and rising.
As the door closed behind his father, Benson leaned against it, breathing hard. Rage simmered beneath his skin—at Logan, for violating his privacy, for handing over Kyle’s name like a weapon. At his father, for reducing a person to a label, for thinking love could be measured by pedigree or reputation.
Kyle was more than what they saw. More than a past, more than a job, more than their narrow definitions of worth.
Benson felt protective, furious, and deeply wounded. Not just for Kyle, but for himself—for the years spent trying to earn his family’s respect, only to be met with contempt the moment he stepped outside their expectations.
He returned to the dining room, sat down, and stared at the half-written card. His hand trembled as he picked up the pen again.
This year, he thought Christmas would be about truth. About choosing love, even when it wasn’t understood. Especially then.
Della came rushing down the stairs and raced into the dining room. She had been upstairs vacuuming. “Why was Grandpa yelling at you?”
“He accused Kyle of being an orphan turned whore. And guess how he found out his name?”
“How?” Her eyes opened wider, as though they couldn’t believe what they were seeing and hearing.
“Your father went through my phone and told Grandpa. And of course, he investigated Kyle.”
“Just like when you two were kids. He’s such a jerk.”
“Exactly. From the day I was born, his mission in life was to erase me from the family. Selfish bastard!” His anger deepened, and with it, his voice grew louder.
“It was the gay thing,” Della said.
“Not when we were kids. He hated me from the day I was born. Didn’t want to be replaced. We were never friends. Remember I told you when he was three and I was two, Grandma had to give us separate rooms because we fought consistently.”
“I forgot about that. Grandma tells it like a professional narrator.” She smiled.
“And it was your black boyfriend that got you kicked out. His values are not human.”
She nodded. “But I didn’t think Grandpa would side with him on this. He’s not like my father.”
“Well, he was tonight. Even though Kyle isn’t here with me now, no one gets to talk shit about him.” The heat crept up Benson’s neck, making his face burn.
“I’m going to ask Grandma to have a talk with him and straighten him out.”
Benson laughed. “Great idea. Before he turns into your dad.”
“The kitten’s things are coming this afternoon. I’ll set his room on the porch for now.”
“Good. I’m going to pay your father a visit.”
Benson didn’t knock—he didn’t have the patience for ceremony. He rang the bell once and stood tall on the marble steps of Logan’s sprawling estate, jaw clenched, fists already curled at his sides. The door opened, and Logan stood there in his tailored shirt and smug expression, as if he hadn’t just betrayed his own brother.
“Come in,” Logan said, voice cool.
