Daddy Benson made them hot chocolate in the kitchen and carried them to the living room. They finished decorating with mugs of hot chocolate in hand, the tree glowing like it had been waiting for them all year. Outside, the waves kept rolling in, steady and soft, and inside, Kyle felt something settle, something warm and quiet and real. They put their wrapped presents under the tree.
Daddy Benson’s phone was ringing, so he went to the kitchen, leaving Kyle to the silence of the living room. It seemed like a business call, but he heard Benson shouting at whoever he was talking to. Kyle worried that their Christmas might be spoiled.
Kyle sat curled into the corner of the couch, hands wrapped around his mug of hot chocolate that had long since stopped steaming. The living room was quiet except for the distant clink of Daddy Benson’s voice drifting from the kitchen.
He hadn’t meant to listen, but the words carried.
“—no, it’s all or nothing. I won’t split it.”
He paused.
“I know what I said. But things have changed.”
Kyle’s grip tightened around the mug. The tone was sharp, decisive—Daddy Benson’s voice had a kind of edge he rarely used around him. It sounded like business, but Kyle couldn’tshake the feeling that it was more than that. Something important. Something final.
His stomach twisted. He didn’t know who Daddy Benson was talking to, and that uncertainty gnawed at him. Was it someone from his past? Someone who could pull him away, make him leave again? Kyle’s mind spun with worst-case scenarios—deals gone wrong, old lovers resurfacing, a life Daddy Benson hadn’t told him about waiting to reclaim him.
He felt the panic rise, quiet but relentless. His chest tightened, and his hands began to shake. The hot chocolate sloshed slightly, unnoticed. He didn’t want to lose this—whatever this was between them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was safe, and it was his. Daddy Benson had made him feel wanted, rooted. And now, with just a few clipped words in the next room, it felt like that ground was shifting.
When Daddy Benson finally returned, his expression was calm, but something in the air had changed. Kyle couldn’t name it—just a subtle shift in energy, like a door had closed somewhere behind them.
Daddy Benson smiled, soft and tired. “Want to take a walk on the beach without our shoes?”
Kyle nodded, too full of emotion to speak. He set the mug down and stood, heart still thudding. He didn’t know what the call had meant, or what tomorrow would bring. But for now, he would walk beside Daddy Benson, let the salt air clear his head, and hope that whatever had shifted between them wasn’t something that would break, or at least he hoped not. He couldn’t pinpoint it but it made him nervous. Daddy Benson carried a large towel and held his hand as they left.
The beach was quiet, the kind of quiet that made Kyle feel like the world had paused just for them. Daddy Benson had laid out the towel on the sand, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, toes buried in the cool grains, watching the tide roll in and out like ithad nowhere else to be. The sun was low, casting a soft amber over Daddy Benson’s face, and Kyle couldn’t help but think he looked like something out of a memory he hadn’t lived yet. They sat close on the towel, the ocean stretching out in front of them like a quiet witness. The breeze tugged at Kyle’s hair, and Daddy Benson reached over, brushing a strand from his forehead with the back of his fingers.
“You always look like you’re thinking about something important,” Daddy Benson said softly.
Kyle smiled, eyes still on the waves. “I am. You.”
Daddy Benson let out a quiet laugh, the kind that came from somewhere warm. “That’s dangerous,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for their shoulders to touch. “I’ve been thinking about you too. Every day. Even when I try not to.”
Kyle turned toward him, their faces inches apart. “Why would you try not to?”
“Because you make me want things I didn’t think I deserved,” Daddy Benson said. His voice was low, steady, like he was saying something sacred.
Kyle reached out, his hand resting lightly on Daddy Benson’s knee. “You do deserve them. All of it.”
Daddy Benson looked at him for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him—slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the shape of Kyle’s mouth. Kyle kissed back, fingers curling into the fabric of Daddy Benson’s shirt, grounding himself in the moment.
When they pulled apart, Daddy Benson rested his forehead against Kyle’s. “I don’t want to rush you,” he whispered. “But I want you with me. Not just here. Everywhere.”
Kyle’s heart thudded in his chest, steady and sure. “This feels like everything else disappeared,” he said. “Like it’s just you and me.”
“It is,” Daddy Benson said. “Right now, it is.”
Kyle closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waves and Daddy Benson’s breath fill the space between them. He didn’t need to say anything more. Not yet. The moment was enough.
Then Daddy Benson shifted, brushing sand off his jeans, and said, “My brother called.”
Chapter Twenty
Kyle
Newport Beach, California
Kyle turned to Daddy Benson, sensing the weight behind the words about his brother calling him but couldn’t quite speak. His heart shattered with tiny sharp pieces scattering like broken glass.
