Page 7 of Stolen Dreams

The corners of my lips turn up as I shake my head. “No. I have my own gift.”

His fingers wring the bottom hem of his shirt. “You do?”

“Yes. I’ve always been good at helping other people find peace when they’re upset.”

“Oh.” He tucks his chin to his chest and studies his fumbling fingers in his lap.

“Would you like to tell me what made you upset earlier?”

He clutches one hand with the other, squeezing until his knuckles blanch. “I don’t snitch.”

Interesting. Maybe he was a part of something and has since been rejected, hence his outbursts.

“Remember, Tucker, whatever you share with me stays between us. I promise.”

Lifting his chin, he studies my expression with narrowed eyes. Silence hovers around us as he reads the lines of my face, searching for any indication of deceit. He isn’t convinced I’ll keep my word, and it hurts my heart someone so young feels such a high level of distrust.

“Tucker, my job is to help you navigate your feelings in a healthy way. Unless someone is hurting you or the other way around, I won’t share our conversation with your teacher or family.”

“Really?” So much hope surrounds the single word.

My chest aches as I nod and draw anXover my heart. “Swear.”

Once more, he tucks his chin to his chest. Inhales a deep, shaky breath as his hands twist in his lap. “Kids in my class are saying mean things to me.”

The pang in my chest intensifies as I soften my tone. “I’m sorry that’s happening. I bet it hurts.”

Back slumped and shoulders caved, he nods and stays quiet.

“Do you want to share the mean things they’re saying?”

His chin trembles a moment before he sniffles then drags the back of his hand across his nose. Tucker shrugs then mumbles, “Stuff about my mom and dad, and me.”

I don’t make a point to learn everything about all the students enrolled at the elementary, middle, and high school. It’d take weeks, if not months. Typically, I dive into their file and homelife after they visit my office or a teacher or administrator brings up their name.

This is the first time I’ve seen or heard anything about Tucker, so I have no context on his history.

“Do you want to tell me the mean things they’re saying about you and your parents?”

An audible huff fills the room. “Kenny called my mom a bad word. Said she doesn’t love me anymore.”

Kenny is a little jerk.

“It must’ve hurt a lot when he said those things.” I reach over and touch Tucker’s shoulder a moment. “But Kenny doesn’t know what your mom feels.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Tucker mutters.

My brows bend in confusion. “Why would you say that?”

His lips turn down at the corners as he tucks his chin closer to his chest. “Before I was here, I lived with my mom. We lived in a bunch of places, but the last had lots of noise and scary people.” He wrings his shirt until his knuckles blanch. “I didn’t know my dad until two Christmases ago. He says him, me, andmy mom all lived together until I was almost two, but I don’t remember that.”

A twist of pain settles beneath my diaphragm as emotion swells in my throat. I take a slow, steadying breath as I shove aside the gut instinct to wrap him in comfort. Swallowing, I say, “A lot of parents don’t live together. Doesn’t mean they don’t love their child.”

“What if they’re never home? What does that mean?”

Another crack lines my heart. “Was your mom away a lot?”

Tucker nibbles on his lips and shrugs. “She was always with one of her boyfriends.”

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