Page 23 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

“Like Mac?” she asks.

That brings me up short. I turn to Declan to find his blue eyes intent on me. I swear he is holding his breath, waiting for my response.

“No, nothing like Declan. I’ve never had brotherly feelings for Dec.” Turning back around, I close my eyes in humiliation. Why did I get all chatty now? I’ve spent years hiding my feelings and suddenly I’m an open book. Yeah, part of my plan is to share more, but there’s sharing and then there’s oversharing.

The breath he exhales tickles the hair on my neck and I shiver.

Brick’s eyes widen. “Right, well, okay. You guys have fun. Come on, Coach, let’s get downstairs for the tour.”

Coach’s head whips around to Brick. “What? I’m not going. I have work to do.”

Why can’t the floor open up and let me drop through?

“We’re hanging out,” Declan says. “I’m reading the new S.B. Hardin mystery. Or goofing on the internet.”

I wonder if this is what it would have been like dating as a teenager with parents around? Having to explain what we were doing and assuring them we weren’t doing anything fun. When Dec showed up to take me to my prom, the school had a whole red carpet live stream to enable friends and family to see us since it was a boarding school and most of us didn’t have family there to snap pictures and give curfews. My parents didn’t care. They had a big race happening in Baltimore the following week and their focus was completely on the horses under their care. Declan’s family stayed up late to watch since they were five hours ahead. His mother texted and gushed how beautiful I looked and hoped we had a wonderful time. The Muffys, Buffys, and Biffs who ignored me for the two years I lived with them took notice when I showed up with Declan. He was gorgeous in his tux with his swoon-worthy accent, Cornell education, and family connections. He was polite, but he made it known he was there for me. I was the focus of his attention. That’s when I knew I was falling in love with him. The six years since then haven’t changed my feelings, no matter how hopeless they are.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Was there anything you wanted to go over together before tonight’s game?”

“No, you look like you need rest, Randi,” Coach says. “All I’m doing is reading some of the scouting reports for our affiliate team, the Demon Geese. See if we have any right wingers who will work. That’s our weakest position.”

Coach sets up shop at the table in the common area of the suite, and I take a seat on the sofa. I fire up my laptop and navigate to house listings. Declan takes the seat next to me and opens his iPad to read his book. Glancing over, I gasp.

“You wear glasses? Since when?”

OMG. This brings the Superman fantasy to a whole other level. Now it’s like he’s cosplaying Clark Kent with the square jaw, bright blue eyes, black hair, and black-framed glasses. I’m here for it.

“Only when I’m reading on a screen. Cuts down on the glare. I don’t need them for magnification or anything like that. They are for comfort. I have perfect eyesight.”

Of course he does. Goes along with every other perfect thing about him. If his eyesight truly was perfect, he’d see me as a woman and how wonderful we could be together. But when I said I’d never seen him in a brotherly way, out loud to my mortification, he didn’t even respond. Not a word, not a blink. Clearly, he doesn’t feel the same way. I’ve been sister-zoned. We could live our childhood dream of having horses and a farm. I could have my dream of having him. But I’m old enough to know dreams don’t come true. I have to plan my life based on reality.

11

DECLAN

The Colorado fans are loud. The few Devil Birds fans present are a welcome sight but greatly outnumbered. The Cryptids are a tough team and playing at the Colorado Springs elevation is always a challenge. The final minutes are ticking down in the third period, and we’re tied. If we go into overtime, we’ll each have a point in the standings, which is great, but I want off the ice. I love playing hockey, I know I’m fortunate to be living one of my dreams, but right now I want this game to be over so I can be with Miranda.

She doesn’t think of me as a brother. Does she think of me solely as a friend? Could she possibly think of me as a man? A man she desires? A man she could love?

“Mac,” Carter growls from the face-off circle. On instinct, I nod to show I’m paying attention like I would to the alpha of my pack. Okay, daydreaming in the seconds left in regulation time and a face-off in our defensive zone is not a good plan. Eighteen seconds left on the clock. Ideally, we get possession of the puck and get it down two hundred feet of ice and into the Cryptids’ goal in these final seconds. At the very least, we need to keep the puck out of goal and get to overtime. Carter faces off against the Cryptids’ center, waiting for the puck to drop. He wins the face off and shoots the puck back to me. The whoosh of the rubber disc over the ice becomes the thwack of the puck hitting the blade of my stick. On instinct, I race down the ice toward the Cryptids’ goal, my eyes fixed on the target. My long legs eat up the ice making it difficult for the Cryptids’ defenders to keep up with me—that’s one of my advantages. I’m not particularly fast but being taller than average, each stroke of my skates propels me further. My heavier weight also gives me more momentum which makes me harder to stop. People rarely want to be between me and wherever I’m headed because I’ll plow them down. Even with superior shifter pain tolerance and faster healing, hitting someone my size at twenty-plus miles per hour is going to hurt.

It’s me and the goalie, and I dimly hear the crowd counting down the final seconds. I pull my stick back and go for the one timer over the goalie’s glove. It’s flying like a missile of vulcanized rubber as I hold my breath waiting to hear the goal horn. Instead, I hear the ping of puck hitting the crossbar of the goal and deflecting toward the stands as the horn ending the third period blares.

Overtime. Damn it. I want this fricking game over with so I can shower and change and sit on the plane with Miranda as we fly home. I know she’s been back in my life less than a week and most of that time has been in hotels and not the apartment we share, but I want to be back there, with her. I want to start building the life I’ve been dreaming of.

But first, we need to get through overtime and hopefully earn an extra point. I skate over to the boards since I’m not in the first group of three starting the five-minute overtime period. Before I climb over the boards to take my seat on the bench, I glance up to where Miranda and Daphne are sitting a couple of rows behind. Miranda is watching me. When she realizes I see her, she smiles and scrunches her nose in what I assume is a you tried gesture. I shrug and sit down, waiting for overtime to start.

Lindy is at center ice for the face-off to start overtime. He doesn’t win the face-off and the Cryptids are storming our goal like they’re social media influencers on the first day of Pumpkin Spice Latte Season and the net is Starbucks. Bedard is doing what he can to block them, but not block Brick’s view of the action. That’s the one disadvantage Brick has—she’s less than six feet tall and it’s hard to see around a bunch of big guys over six feet tall wearing hockey pads. Her agility helps her react in the blink of an eye, but sometimes that’s not fast enough. Like this time.

The puck slips past her left pad and into the goal, lighting the lamp and signaling the end of the game. Twenty-four seconds, that’s all it took. We’re quiet as we undress in the locker room and prepare for the showers. There isn’t anything to say. We played hard. Colorado is a tough team, and they are used to the altitude.

Guilt eats at me because I let my thoughts about Miranda distract me in the final moments of the game. If I had been paying better attention, maybe we would have avoided overtime and be flying home with two points. Not the one-point equivalent of a peewee team participation trophy. As much as I want to be with Miranda, I can’t let her distract me. I need my spot on the team and the money I can earn in order to get the farm I want and ask her to spend her life with me. Everywhere else but the ice, Miranda comes first. But when I’m suited up with my stick in my hand, getting the puck in the other team’s goal is all that matters.

12

DECLAN

It’s good to be back home. I love playing road games, but I’m worried about Miranda handling the traveling and time changes. Hopefully, being home for almost a week will reset her body clock. Obviously, she can handle the job she’s been hired for. She did the same job for a year and half with the rugby team in New Zealand. They had tournaments all over the world and she adapted. She’s a grown woman. I know all this. But I can’t help wanting to care for her and protect her.

---