Page 39 of Stolen Dreams

In my sophomore year of high school, my primary focus had been my studies. By mid-junior year, most of my attention centered around my eventual career. If something or someone disrupted my plan, I tended to shove it or them aside. The more my career goals solidified, the more concrete those tendencies became.

After a handful of dates with Ren, we took the next step. Unfortunately for him, it was also our last step.

I liked Ren. A lot. For months, he garnered much of my attention. Spending time with him felt right, perfect. So taking the next step seemed evolutionary, natural. But as we lay in his bed in coital bliss, it dawned on me how off course I’d drifted.

I didn’t want to hurt him, but I refused to let myself be distracted anymore. Once we crossed the line, there was no in-between. So, I broke his heart and lost a great friend in the process.

At this stage of my life and in my career, the occasional date isn’t off the table. But I refuse to let a romantic relationship smother my light, my work, my ambition, or my future. It’s challenging enough to fight the strong, invisible current in my path. The last thing I need is an additional obstacle in the way.

With the right person, it’s possible to have more than my career. Love and intimacy take work, but they shouldn’t feel like barriers.

If Ray Calhoun truly wants a shot, I need to be more than one of the millions of people fawning over him online. I need to know I’m more than a distraction or good time. That he won’t diminish my aspirations to boost his own.

I unlock my car and stow my belongings in the back seat. Opening the driver’s door, I turn to face him. “Thank you, again. It was nice to see the students in an environment other than school.”

He nods. “I don’t get enough time with Tucker because of our schedules. But that’s changing.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a positive transition for you both. Oh”—I hold up a finger—“I meant to ask earlier but didn’t have the chance. Why did Phoebe call you Tré?”

Conflicting emotions dance in his eyes. “It’s a default nickname. The simplest to use when Dad, Pops, and I are in the same room. Curse of sharing the same name.” He chuckles. “I put my foot down and refuse to let there be a fourth Ray.”

“I love Tucker’s name.”

“Thanks. Was my choice. His mother didn’t care about his name.” Melancholy laces his tone. “Was nice to see Tucker so happy today. Don’t think I’ve seen him smile that much in a while.”

The details of Tucker’s past are vague, but after talking with him and spending time with Ray, it’s easy to see they’ve experienced major bumps.

“Glad he has a parent who gives him that.” I slip behind the wheel and reach for the door handle. “See you in the morning.”

He reaches for the door, steps closer, and flashes me his dazzling smile. “Look forward to it.” With a wink, he shuts my door and steps back.

I expect him to turn around and head for the restaurant. Go inside and say goodbye to others. But he doesn’t move. Rooted in place, gaze on my profile, he watches me drive out of the lot. Fire licks my skin the entire seventeen seconds I see him in my rearview.

My pulse resumes its normal rhythm by the time I reach the rec center. I head inside, spend a few hours entertaining and corralling the grade school children, pass out snacks and sit through an animated movie I saw a dozen times last summer, and am thoroughly exhausted when the last child is picked up.

On the way to my car, I call Bay Chowder House for takeout. Order one of my favorites as I slip into the driver’s seat and crank the engine. Melt into my seat and take a moment for myself when the call disconnects.

It’s been a long day, but I wouldn’t change a single minute.

As I turn into the restaurant lot, ringing sounds through the car speakers. I glance at the console and smile whenAnaana—mother—flashes on the screen. Mom.

Pressing the answer button on the steering wheel, I greet, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, my sweetpanik. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

In my preteens, there was this small window of time where I wished my mom called me something besidesmy sweet daughter.Most girls my age were called darling, cutie, peanut, or a similar term of endearment by their parents. I wanted so badly to have anormalbyname from my parents. To be like the other girls.

When I grew out of my broody stage, I was glad my parents hadn’t given me one of those nicknames. They didn’t fit who I am or where I come from.

My smile widens at her warm, affectionate tone. “Not at all. Picking up dinner.”

“Long day?”

As doctors, my parents are accustomed to long shifts and the exhaustion that comes with it. But we all agree the reward is worth the price.

“Yes. Working a couple programs this summer.”

“I won’t keep you. Only called to check in about Friday dinner.”

---