Kyle stared at it for a long moment, then held it close to his chest.
“I’ve never…” he started, then stopped. His voice was tight. “I’ve never had one of these.”
Benson sat on the edge of his bed, watching him. “Keep it close at night. Helps with the quiet.”
Kyle nodded, still holding the bear like it was something fragile. “Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Benson didn’t press, but it was obvious something had gone sideways in Kyle’s childhood. No gifts, no comfort, no one telling him it was okay to hold on to something soft. Benson figured he didn’t need the details to understand the weight of that moment. The snow kept falling outside, silent and steady. Inside, the room felt warmer somehow.
Kyle sat cross-legged on his bed, the teddy bear tucked against his chest like it had always belonged there. Benson flipped through the channels on the TV, not really watching, just giving Kyle space to settle. Eventually, he clicked it off. The room went quiet except for the hum of the heater and the occasional gust of wind rattling the window.
Kyle lay back, staring at the ceiling. “You do this a lot?” he asked.
Benson looked over. “What, pick up strays?”
Kyle gave a soft laugh. “No. The presents. The driving. The motel rooms.”
“Yeah,” Benson said, stretching out. “I make stops in a bunch of states, drop off toys at shelters, community centers. Places that need a little extra.”
Kyle turned his head toward him. “Why?”
Benson shrugged. “Started a few years back. Had a rough patch myself. Figured if I could make things a little easier for someone else, maybe it’d balance out.” He wasn’t completely honest with Kyle, but most of it was true, with the exceptions of crossing the country during Christmas week. He delivered presents locally each year.
Kyle was quiet for a moment. “That’s…really kind and generous of you.”
Benson waved it off. “Just something I do. Doesn’t fix everything, but it helps.”
Kyle shifted, pulling the bear closer. “I used to pretend I had stuff like this. A bear. A room that felt safe. Parents who gave a damn.”
Benson said nothing right away. He didn’t want to push. But Kyle kept going, voice low.
“They were strict. Cold. I tried to be what they wanted, but it never stuck. Dancing was the final straw. They said I was throwing my life away.”
“You weren’t,” Benson declared.
Kyle smiled, but it was sad. “I know that now. But back then, it felt like I was choosing between being loved and being myself.”
Benson sat up a little. “That’s a hell of a choice for a kid.”
Kyle nodded. “I picked me. And I lost them.”
Benson leaned back and arms behind his head. “You didn’t lose anything worth keeping if they couldn’t love you for who you are.”
Kyle looked over at him, eyes glassy but steady. “Thanks.”
Benson gave a small nod. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
Kyle curled up, the bear tucked under his chin. “Night, Benson.”
“Night.”
With the lights off the room settled into quiet. Benson lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the things Kyle hadn’t said and all the things he didn’t need to. Some stories were written in silence.
And tonight, at least, Kyle had a warm bed, a roof over his head, and something soft to hold on to.
Chapter Five
Kyle
