Page 17 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

“I was twelve. I’ve gone through customs before. I knew what to do.”

She says it matter-of-factly, like it’s not a big deal.

“What happened when your parents realized what happened? Did they freak out?” Daphne asks.

I sneak a peek through the seats. As expected, Daphne’s eyes are wide, and her hands rest on her baby bump. I bet she’s thinking she’d never forget her child on a plane. I know she won’t. She’s going to be a wonderful mother.

“Probably not. The crew on my flight radioed the crew on theirs. They worked it out when I landed in L.A., I’d catch a flight to…” She scrunches her face in concentration, ticking off a mental list on her finger. “It was Minneapolis…and the school would pick me up. They went to their place in Florida. I was going to my next school. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Stone undoes his seat belt and kneels on his seat to look over the back of his seat and join in the conversation.

“You’re a twelve-year-old girl. In a foreign country, separated from your parents, and they aren’t walking back to coach and waking you up? They can forget their child is traveling with them and don’t realize it until the flight crew reminds them? They arrange for you to fly back across the country by yourself and get picked up by strangers while they go off on their merry way? What the actual fuck? That can’t be true.”

Stella delivers my tea. I give a tense nod of thanks.

“Bring him a whisky, neat,” Bedard says.

“I’m not lying. It happened.” I can hear the insistence in her voice—she’s getting upset and I can’t stand it. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was twelve, not a baby.”

“What’s rumbling?” she asks nervously. “The plane engine?”

“No, it’s Mac growling.” Bedard says.

“What? Why?” Miranda leans out of her seat and reaches back to lay her hand on my arm.

“Declan, are you okay? Do you not like flying?” Her touch is soothing. Her thumb is rubbing up and down my arm. Her hand is warm. My wolf is calming down.

“Flying is fine. I want to kill your parents.”

Stella comes back with my whisky. I down it in one go. It’s not as good as my family’s, but good enough. Her eyes flick to Miranda’s hand on my arm and back to my face.

“Would you like another?” she asks.

I shake my head. I can’t drink enough to get drunk, anyway. She gets everyone else’s drink requests and goes back to the galley.

Miranda pulls her hand away, and I miss the heat and contact immediately.

“Don’t be like that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “They were busy. Everything worked out.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I’m never too busy for her. I would never leave her behind. But she’s not ready to hear that, no matter how much I want to say it. I’ll add it to the list of things I can’t say to her. Yet.

10

MIRANDA

I realize I’m defensive. But when you’re told you’re a liar most of your childhood, when you can’t trust your own memories…

I offer Stone a weak smile. “It’s all right. Sorry for being defensive.”

“No worries,” he replies, offering me a smile. Maybe not as friendly as it was before. Crap. Have I ruined our burgeoning friendship with my prickliness?

I know my parents aren’t perfect. They’re busy with their practice and are in demand all over the world because they are experts at what they do. What they do is important. They keep the beautiful horses they treat healthy and safe. It’s not like they were abusive or anything. Many kids have it worse than I did. Do I wish they had more time for me? Yeah, I did when I was younger. I want to have a closer relationship with them. That’s part of the reason I’m back in New Jersey. But going to different schools every year, sometimes every term, helped me to be independent and resourceful. Classmates of mine couldn’t handle the basics of life like booking an airline ticket or finding a job house-sitting for a professor at the local university over the holidays when the dorms would be closed at my boarding school. It worked out great. They got back the day before the dorms reopened. At most I would have to pay for one night at a hotel. If my parents had me spend the holidays with them every year, I wouldn’t have learned I could do that.

Note to self: don’t talk about your childhood. I know this and normally deflect questions, but I wasn’t thinking. Ironically, it’s probably because I need to sleep that I wasn’t more guarded. Is ironic the right word? Whatever.

The flight attendant who has her eye on Declan brought me a lovely cup of tea. I shouldn’t want to throat punch her. But who can blame me? Dec is gorgeous and kind. And not mine.

Everyone has earbuds in, their laptops out, or they’re kicked back and napping. Getting my tablet out of my bag, I call up the local real estate listings. I can’t live with Carter forever. I want my own home. I’ve been doing research and there are grants for first-time homebuyers I will apply for. I would be okay buying a fixer-upper with good bones but needs work. I need a functional kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom—everything else can be dealt with over time as long as the roof, plumbing, and electrical are good. I’m excited to have a project and something I can put my mark on and have control over. I haven’t had that before in my life and I’m ready to be in charge of my own future.

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