Secret Pucking Unicorn

7. Declan

I don’t slitmy throat, but I nick my chin. Sharing a space with Miranda is going to be a heavenly kind of hell. As I dress in my practice gear, I mentally run through the checklist of what I need for the road trip. My garment bag with my suits is hanging on the back of the door. My travel toiletry bag is always packed and ready to go. My equipment is at the rink, and I took care of my suitcase last night. My iPad and charger are in the small carry-on I take on the plane. I’m all set. It’s back-to-back games in Washington state and Colorado, four days. Did Miranda pack already? Does she know what she needs?

Following the scent of bacon, I walk to the counter in the common kitchen where Miranda is on a stool watching Brick cook. Looks like bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast.

“Good morning,” I say to Brick, taking the stool next to Miranda’s and pouring myself a glass of orange juice.

“Do you want tea?” I ask her.

Stone comes in and goes to the coffeepot. “Oh, no, tell me you’re not a tea snob too, Randi.”

“No tea snob here,” she says with a bright smile.

“Good, because Earl Grey over there,” Stone jerks his thumb in my direction, “is enough.”

I get up and fill the electric kettle with water. “It’s not Earl Grey, it’s Irish breakfast tea.”

Miranda’s wistful sigh drifts to me, but before I can ask again if she wants some, Stone puts a cup of coffee in front of her.

“Thanks,” she says.

This will be interesting. I rest my back against the counter, cross my arms, and watch as she adds four spoonfuls of sugar and as much milk as the mug will allow. Watching her take a cautious sip, her shudder has me shaking my head. She hates coffee. Why is she forcing herself to drink it? Whatever. The kettle shuts off and I turn to fill the thermos I take with me to the rink and the travel mug I use in the morning. When I have time, I make a pot and use the quilted tea cozy my mother sent me, allowing me to drink my tea like a civilized man. Today it’s the insulated mug and a thermos. I drop my tea bags in and turn back around. Miranda is staring at me with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“You’re using tea bags?”

“What else would you use?” Stone asks.

“Loose leaf tea and an infuser,” Miranda says.

She’s scandalized, and I love it. I still don’t understand the coffee charade, but at least I know she’s true to her tea loving roots.

“Ma made me the tea bags. It’s her loose leaf blend. It’s easier to travel with the bags than the tea tin and equipment. Thanks,” I say as Brick puts everything she cooked on the counter. I hand Miranda a plate from the pile at my elbow.

She takes the plate and looks around uncertainly. Carter and Bedard have joined us.

“You need to take what you want first because the boys will fall on it like starving hyenas and there will be nothing left,” Brick explains.

“Oh, okay.” She takes a couple strips of bacon, a slice of toast and a scoop of eggs. She’s going to be starving in two hours, but whatever.

Brick fills her plate next because the rule is whoever cooks gets first dibs. Then, true to form, the rest of us attack it and fill our plates.

Carter takes the stool on the other side of Miranda. “Since when do you drink coffee?”

“Since this morning,” she mumbles. Adding more milk to refill her mug after her last sip, she takes another taste. Then she adds more sugar. She’s going to end up with a mug full of milk and sugar.

I realize she is having breakfast with people she hasn’t formally met yet, so I make introductions.

“Nice to meet you,” Miranda says. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Don’t thank them, I get all the thanks,” Carter says. “Without me, you’d be homeless.”

I know he’s teasing, but by the way Miranda’s already fair face goes chalk white, she doesn’t realize it.

“Of course, sorry. Thank you, Trevor.” Her Irish lilt is coming through. That’s something I’ve noticed happens when she’s tired or upset and can’t fully disguise it.

I wait for him to tell her he’s teasing, but he doesn’t. He stuffs another forkful of eggs in his mouth. I like Carter, I really do, but right now I want to punch him.

Nudging Miranda with my elbow to get her attention, I ask, “Did Daphne give you information about what you need to pack for the trip?”

“Um, I don’t know. Will we be coming back here for our bags, or do we take them with us this morning?” She’s biting her bottom lip, and my wolf licks his. “Let me go check my phone. Thanks for breakfast, Brick, it was delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” Brick says. “Can you cook? We take turns. Not every day, but a few times a week we eat together and rotate playing chef.”

Beautiful gray eyes widen in panic. “I’ve cooked for myself. Never for a group of people and certainly not shifters. I don’t think I can make enough food for all of you.” She gives a shaky laugh.

“We’ll team up until you get the hang of it,” I offer.

Her hand rests on my forearm and gives a gentle squeeze that shoots right to my dick.

“You’re a lifesaver, Declan. Let me go check my phone to see if Daphne sent anything and put stuff in my carry-on. We fly out this afternoon, spend tonight and tomorrow night in Spokane, the next in Colorado Springs, and fly home after the Colorado game? Do I have it right?”

“Yep,” Stone says. “Then we have three days off and a home stand. It’s a shame you didn’t arrange to join us in Washington. All this flying must screw up your body clock.”

“Whatever,” she says. “I’m used to adapting. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

She heads back to her bedroom, and we continue eating. I know she’s used to traveling and adapting to wherever she ends up, but I want her to stay somewhere long-term. Okay, what I truly want is for her to stay with me. Would she want to settle down? Miranda seems ready to always go on a new adventure and move somewhere new. I dream of having a home and a family. I want to raise horses and babies. With Miranda. If she’d stay. Can I convince her I’m enough and worth settling down for? Or can I sacrifice my dreams to follow hers?