Kyle shook his head. “My parents want nothing to do with me. Haven’t talked to them in years.”
That made Benson glance over again, this time longer. Kyle didn’t look bitter, just resigned. Like he’d already made peace with it, or that was what he wanted Benson to believe. He didn’t buy his story at all. At first he said he had no family, as if he had hatched out of a chicken egg, then when Benson pressured him, he made up a story.
“What happened?”
Kyle leaned his head back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling like he was watching old memories play out. “I was a dancer. In New York. They didn’t like that. Thought it was a waste. Thought I was a waste.”
Benson let out a low sigh. “That’s rough.”
“Yeah.” Kyle shrugged. “I grew up on the Jersey Shore. Loved it there. The Jersey Shore—the ocean, the boardwalk, all of it. But my parents made it hard to stick around. So I left. Went to the city to dance.”
“You trained there?”
Kyle grinned, a little proud. “Self-taught. Mostly. Picked up what I could from videos, street performances, whatever. I graduated from high school and did two years of college studying art. But I couldn’t afford it anymore. Supplies, tuition, it all added up. So I dropped out.”
Benson nodded slowly, letting that sink in. “And now you’re headed to California.”
Kyle looked out the window, his voice softer. “Figured I’d try something new. Maybe find a place where I fit.”
Benson said nothing for a minute. Just kept driving, the hum of the road filling the silence. Kyle was cute, yeah, and friendly, too, but he needed something solid. A direction. Benson wasn’t sure if California had that for him, but hell, maybe it was better than nowhere. He knew one thing about Kyle: he was lying to him. Was he afraid to tell his story or ashamed? He planned to find out.
“We’ll stop in Ohio tonight,” Benson said eventually. “Grab a motel, get some rest.”
Kyle nodded, then glanced over with a small smile. “Thanks for the ride. Seriously.”
Benson gave a half-smile back. “I’m not dumping you in Ohio in the middle of the night. You’ll stay with me. I’ll ask for two beds if that’s okay with you.”
“You’re not dumping me? I mean you don’t have to put me up in a motel room.”
“I like you, Kyle. I want to keep you safe and warm from the storm and yourself.”
“No one ever really wanted me to stick around. I’m only trouble.”
“You might be trouble, but I’m the kind of man who loves taking care of a young man in the middle of a serious crisis.”
“Do you think I’m in the middle of one?” He looked over at Benson with such apprehension in his expression. He knew that look, the look of pleading for help without the words.
Needing someone to help him.
Benson pulled the truck into the motel lot just as the snow started falling harder, fat flakes swirling under the glow of the parking lights. The place was nothing fancy but a squat, L-shaped building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that read VACANCY. But it was clean enough, and the lady at the front desk didn’t ask questions when he booked a room with two beds.
Kyle followed him across the lot, hunched into his jacket, boots crunching in the fresh snow. He didn’t complain about the cold, just kept pace, quiet and thoughtful. The snow stuck to his curls and Benson thought he looked like some kind of winter postcard except for the part where he was clearly exhausted.
The room was on the second floor, up a metal staircase that groaned under their weight. Benson unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a space that smelled faintly of bleach and old carpet. Two beds, a little table, a TV bolted to the wall. One of those motel comforters that looked warm but felt like paper.
Kyle dropped his backpack by the bed closest to the window and sat down, rubbing his hands together. Benson stood for a second, then patted his pockets like he’d forgotten something.
“Hang on,” he said. “Left something in the truck.”
He jogged back down the stairs, the snow already layering the windshield. At the back of the truck, he lifted the tailgate and dug through the pile of wrapped presents—bright paper, bows, tags with names of kids he’d be seeing during Christmas week. He found the one he’d set aside earlier, wrapped in blue with silver stars. No tag. Just instinct. He climbed up the slipperysteps and returned to the room, brushing snow off his shoulders, and held the gift out to Kyle.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, like it was no big deal.
Kyle blinked at it, like he wasn’t sure it was meant for him. “For me?”
“Yeah,” Benson said, nudging it toward him. “Go on.”
Kyle took it slowly, fingers brushing the paper like it might vanish. He peeled back the wrapping with care, not tearing it, just unfolding it like something sacred. Inside was a teddy bear dressed in soft blue overalls and a matching knit hat. Its little stitched eyes looked up at him like it understood everything.
