Secret Pucking Unicorn

8. Miranda

Daphne’s textgives me the scoop on what I’ll need for the trip. She has a stash of team branded gear I can wear to the games. I open my carry-on bag and repack it. We fly on chartered flights, which is wonderful. The rugby team I worked for often flew commercial when we weren’t taking a bus. The players would always get first class and business class seats, and I’d be back in economy with the other travel staff.

I can pack with my eyes closed. After confirming the temperature for where we are going, I add more sweaters and cozy socks. I left the southern hemisphere in the middle of summer. It will take time to acclimate to winter in the northern hemisphere. The next week is going to suck between jet lag and not being warm. At least we will have a few days off and then home games. I’ll have to ask if the team does anything for New Year’s Eve. I’d be happy with a quiet night home but knowing Trevor’s love of being in the center of the action, he’ll probably throw a party.

I grab my coat and wheel my carry-on out to the common room. Burke is there. No. I should call him Bedard, start using everyone’s nicknames and last names. Everyone else comes out with their bags. Declan takes mine to carry downstairs before I grab it.

“Dec, give me my bag. I can carry it. Brick is carrying her own.”

“He tried to carry mine, Randi,” Brick says as she follows me down the stairs. “His default setting is to be a gentleman. It’s refreshing.”

“How did you get him to stop?” I ask over my shoulder.

Stone chuckles, tossing his head to get his shaggy brown hair out of his big brown eyes framed with beautiful long eyelashes. His grin is mischievous. “She threatened to put Bengay in his cup.”

My nose wrinkles, and Declan glances back at me.

“You have access to my shampoo,” he says. “Are you going to put hair remover in it?”

I reach out to ruffle his thick, black hair. It’s cool and crisp in my fingers. It has a bit of curl to it. I love it when it grows out and the curls appear. Reminds me of the boy who meant everything to me as a child. He normally keeps it cut short, but through the years when we had our video chats or we’d have infrequent visits, there were times it was longer and the curls were there.

“No, I love your hair. I’d double check your toothpaste, though.”

Everyone laughs as we make our way downstairs. We pile into Declan’s Suburban, and I sit between Declan and Bedard in the front row. Stone, Brick, and Trevor—I guess I should call him Carter now—are in the row behind us.

It’s nice being in relative silence. The past few days have been almost constant noise with the airports, flights, rink, and all the new people. I give off an air of being social and extroverted because it makes it easier to be accepted when I’m someplace new, but I love being able to have some solitude. I’ve always been like that. When I was a girl living with the Mackenzies at their home in Ireland, they could usually find me in a gazebo on the grounds of their home. It was on the edge of the woods and surrounded by a field full of daisies and forget-me-nots. It was my favorite place in the entire world. I could get away from the other kids. Declan has four younger brothers and his sister, Sophie.

Declan would usually find me there making daisy chains or cloud watching. He’d sit next to me quietly. Occasionally pointing out an interesting-looking cloud. I think he wanted to be away from his siblings too. I wonder if the gazebo is still there.

Stone speaks up from the back seat. “So, if Randi is Irish and you’re Scottish, Mac, how did you grow up together?”

Dec glances down at me, and I motion for him to explain it.

“Our parents are best friends. My mother is Irish, Da is Scottish. We lived mostly in Ireland but would go to Scotland for the holidays and school breaks. I went to senior school in the north of Scotland. Miranda’s parents traveled a lot for work. There was a passel of us kids—I have five younger siblings—so Miranda stayed with us and was part of the tribe.”

“They’re equine veterinarians,” I chime in.

“We’ve been best friends for six years, Randi, and this is the first time you mentioned what your parents do,” Carter says from the back seat.

I shrug. “It never came up.”

“Do you have siblings, Randi?” Bedard asks from next to me.

I shake my head. “No, just me.”

“Lucky,” Brick mutters, and we all laugh.

“It was lonely a lot of the time, especially when I went away to school when I was ten.” Dec’s hand leaves the steering wheel to give my knee a gentle squeeze. My tummy flips. “But I’m great at adapting to new people and places. It’s a benefit.”

We park and head from the parking garage to the rink. I’m not prepared for the icy wind sweeping down the Boardwalk and off the Atlantic Ocean when we leave the parking garage. It steals my breath and I stumble into Dec. He immediately wraps his arm around me and hustles me across the boards into the doors of the pier.

When I catch my breath and reluctantly step out from under Declan’s arm, I laugh.

“Whoa, I was not expecting that. Next time, I’m buttoning up my coat and wearing a hat and gloves. That’s brutal.”

“Bet you’re wishing you stayed in New Zealand,” Carter says. “You could be on the beach now.”

Hopefully, they chalk the red in my cheeks up to the frigid wind when I say, “No, this is where I want to be.” Maybe I’m imagining the uptick of Dec’s lips at my statement, but I hope not.

We part ways and I go to Daphne’s office, rapping my knuckles on the door frame to alert her to my presence.

“Hey Randi, did you get some sleep last night? I feel horrible we’re dragging you back and forth across the country.”

I return her warm smile as I drape my coat over the arm of the sofa in her office.

“I slept well,” I say, settling in the chair in front of her desk. “Honestly, it’s better I came here first. My rhythm is screwy anyway and when you factor in time zones and the hemisphere flip, I don’t know what day it is or what season I’m in. Working gives me something to focus on at least. I’ll adjust soon enough. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“When Logan and I travel, I usually spend the first day in bed.”

My eyebrows inch toward my hairline. I’m not stupid.

“Daph, that has nothing to do with travel and everything to do with Logan.”

Her hand drops to rub her belly while a pretty pink flush stains her cheeks.

We both laugh. Daphne was a major factor why I wanted to come back to New Jersey and work for the Devil Birds. I don’t truly connect with very many people. Daphne is one of the few. She would have been at my graduation from Wickham, but she and Logan had the flu and were staying home. She was heartbroken to miss it and was relieved when I told her a friend from home attended. I didn’t tell her the friend was Declan because I didn’t want to explain our relationship. I can’t explain our relationship. I’m trying to figure out where we stand.

Daphne gestures to a black duffle bag on the sofa behind me. “Oh, there’s your Birds gear. Let me know if you want something in a different size or more of something.”

Pulling the bag onto my lap, I unzip and go through it. T-shirts, hoodies, joggers, hats, jerseys—there is a bit of everything. I look to see whose jerseys I have. They are for the mascot, Shifty the Seagull, who wears double zero as his number.

“I figured Shifty was the most diplomatic choice. If you want a player jersey, we can do that.”

I shake my head. “No, Shifty is a good choice. I don’t want to appear to play favorites.”

“But if you were to pick, you’d go with Mac, right?” Daphne’s brown eyes are bright with mischief. And maybe a gleam of matchmaking too.

My bark of laughter slips out. “You and I both know Carter would pout if I wore anyone else’s number but his. I don’t want to end up homeless.”

“Carter?”

Shrugging, I scrunch up my face. “It’s weird, but I’m trying to get used to calling everyone by their last name or their nickname. I want to fit in.”

“So, Mac?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know if I can do that one. He’s been Declan since I could talk. His name was my first word.”

“Aw. That’s adorable.” Daphne holds her clasped hands to her heart. “Were your parents upset it wasn’t Mama or Dada?”

“Doubtful they even knew. They were off in Italy or Austria. Maybe Dubai.”

“Have you been in touch with them lately?” she asks.

I repack the duffle bag, happy to have something to focus on. “Nope. But I hope to be now that we’re all in New Jersey. I’m tired of being alone.”

Sniffling, Daphne grabs a tissue and wipes her eyes. Getting out of her chair, she comes around the desk and bends down to hug me. Her baby bump is pressing into my arm that’s trapped between us. “Randi, you’re not on your own. You have me. You have us. You’re not alone.”

I know she sincerely believes what she’s saying, and I love her for that. But once Birdie arrives, she’s going to be busy building her family with Logan, and I will be an afterthought. The focus will be on the baby, as it should be. Every baby deserves to be the center of their parents’ world. I know that’s how it will be, if I’m ever fortunate enough to have a family of my own. If I can create some stability here, then maybe I can take the steps to make that part of my dream come true.

After Daphne composes herself, she sits behind her desk again, and we chat some more about the travel plans. We go through the routine for game day when we are away. Of course, some aspects are unique because this is ice hockey and not rugby, but enough is similar despite being in the US and not New Zealand. Professional sports is a universal language to a certain extent. I’m not fluent yet, but I’m certainly conversant. Kinda like I am with German. Why my parents enrolled me in a German school in Portugal still doesn’t make sense to me. But I was eleven then and realizing very little my parents did when it came to me was based on logic. I assume it was the only school willing to accept me as a boarder on short notice. For the term I was there, I picked up enough of both German and Portuguese to get by. Of course, most of it was slang words not appropriate for an eleven-year-old girl, but you do what’s necessary to fit in.

Grabbing my coat and duffle bag, I go to my office. Entering through the doorway from the dining room door, I gasp when I see the furniture rearranged how Declan suggested it yesterday. It’s perfect. There is a thermos on my desk with a note propped on it. Sitting down, I take a moment to appreciate the view of the beach and the ocean. When I grab the note, I recognize Dec’s handwriting.

“Let me know if you don’t like the furniture. I’ll move it back. I was going to ask, but you weren’t around. Tea in the thermos. Why did you drink the coffee?????”

He signed it with a “D,” like there was any doubt who had done this for me. He even put a mug from the dining room next to the thermos. Talk about service. Taking the hint, I unscrew the lid and close my eyes to enjoy the soothing fragrance of the tea carried on the rising steam. Pouring my mug, I cup it in both hands and lean back in my desk chair with a sigh. My first sip is what it must have been like for any lucky mortal to get their first taste of ambrosia. It is a heavenly experience. First a cheese toastie and now a thermos full of tea. I will end up completely spoiled if this keeps up. He’d do this for anyone, I’m sure. He’s a kind man. He’s doing it to be nice and because we’re old friends. I’m not special. I need to remember that.

But I can break the pattern. I’m in charge of my life now. I’m an adult who gets to choose where I live and it’s up to me when I leave. If I leave at all. I can make connections and if they don’t grow, I can make new connections. It is going to be okay. I am going to make friends. I will figure out how to make sure they like me. My life is going to look like the old sitcom where everyone would sit around the coffee shop and talk and be best friends. Sure, it was a made-up TV show, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have it too.