14. Declan

Gigglingdrifts out of the closet as Miranda sorts through her dresses to see if she has something for tomorrow night. Coach and I are playing foosball against Stone and Carter. Stone gets one in our net and does an obnoxious dance. I put up with it because his breakfast casserole was delicious.

"What's up with you having her dresses?" Carter asks. "That's weird."

"She was packing up before going to New Zealand and wasn't taking them with her. She didn't have time to take them to the consignment store. I said I'd take care of it. I sent her a check and shoved them in my closet because I didn't feel like dealing with it either."

"Why didn't she leave them with me?"

I can't believe he's pouting over this.

"I don't know. I was there, and you weren't."

I'm not trying to be an asshole, but part of me has a hard time forgiving the way he and Kendall abandoned Miranda. If I hadn't been at her graduation, she would have walked across the stage in silence and had no one there to congratulate her and tell her they were proud of her. She spent much of her life alone. I couldn't let her go through something else by herself if it was in my power to be there. I want to be there for all her moments if she'll let me.

That must have struck a nerve because he spun his handle hard enough the ball went airborne, and it was Bedard's lightning-fast reflexes that kept it from flying across the room.

"Fashion show time," Kendall calls out as she walks into the room.

"Ken, no," Miranda whines. "It's ridiculous. They don't care."

"Yes we do, Randa Panda, strut your stuff," Carter says as he turns away from the foosball table to face the door.

My breath catches in my throat when Miranda walks out in a gorgeous green floor-length gown with a beaded lace bodice. When she spins around and her skirt flares, I see how the back of the bodice dips to show an expanse of creamy skin. I swallow hard.

"Liam, isn't this gorgeous? This is what I want for our bridesmaid dresses," Mallory says, bouncing on her toes where she has wedged herself between me and Coach at the foosball table.

Miranda's laugh tinkles like wind chimes. "This is a seven-year-old prom gown. I don't think you're going to find it unless you hit the thrift stores. Or get someone to sew something similar."

"Wait, you still fit in your prom gown? How?" Daphne asks. "Of course, I'm not sure I can fit in what I wore yesterday, let alone a decade ago."

"It fits differently than it did back then. I'm leaner in some places, curvier in others," she says, running her hands along the curves I'm dying to touch.

"You're even more beautiful now than you were then." My voice rumbles from deep in my chest, next to my heart. Shocking myself by saying out loud the words I think every time I see her. She's always more beautiful to me than she was the moment before.

I clear my throat and fiddle with the knobs on the table, watching my foosball players dance a jig. I know my face is burning.

"OMG, that is the dreamiest thing I ever heard. Where are the tissues? I used my pack up." Daphne is sniffling and looking around for something to wipe her eyes with. Stone, ever a gentleman, rushes to the powder room and comes back, handing her a roll of toilet paper.

Brick waves her finger between me and Miranda. "Did you two go to prom together?" Miranda nods.

She turns and lifts her skirt going back into our apartment, and I realize she's barefoot. She was wearing three-inch heels with the gown back then and with a foot difference in our heights at the time, her dress wasn't dragging on the floor.

"Here, check this out." Miranda returns from our apartment, opening a frame and handing it to Brick. All the girls gather around as a collective "Aww!" goes up along with assorted "You were babies" and "Wow."

"I remember this picture. You and Trev were going to his first Barrister's Ball." Kendall is pointing to the other picture in the frame. Miranda and Carter are in formal attire. This time, her gown is a deep red with thin straps and Carter is in a tuxedo. They aren't doing the prom pose, but they are side by side with their arms around each other and his hand is resting on her hip. Their smiles are genuine and relaxed. Nothing looks like a forced pose done at the direction of the prom photographer.

Kendall passes the photo across the table to Carter, and he studies both pictures before handing it to Stone.

"I bet you had more fun at your prom, huh, Randi? I was a lousy date. Left you to go home with Serena Kincaid." Carter looks at her and I can see the remorse in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Miranda, I haven't been the friend you deserved."

She slips out of my hold and walks around the table to hug Carter. He lifts her up and I see her bare toes peek out from under the hem of her skirt.

She whispers, but my shifter hearing can pick up every word she says.

"It's okay, Trev. You've never let me fall and I can trust you to catch me. I love you."

My brain knows she means it in a friendly way and not romantic, but my heart feels like it had a dagger shoved in it.

"I love you, too." He pecks her on the cheek as he lowers her to the floor.

She pulls out of his embrace, laughing. "Good. Now never call me Miranda again. It creeps me out. It's okay Declan calls me Miranda."

"I still call you Daisy in my head." The words slip out before I realize I even thought of them. When tears well up in her eyes, I think I've made a huge mistake, but when she throws her arms around my waist and burrows into my chest, I decide maybe I did okay. I wrap my arms around her.

"What's up with the daisy thing?" Stone asks.

Sniffling, Miranda, my Daisy, pulls out of my arms and takes the roll of toilet paper from Daphne, rips off a bunch, and blows her nose. I can't help it. I chuckle. It's just so…her.

"When I was a little girl, around eight years old, I was out in this field of wildflowers at Dec's home in Ireland. It's my favorite place in the world, full of forget-me-nots and daisies, and there was an old gazebo there. I was crying because my grandfather called me his daisy. My mother was a beautiful Irish rose, and I was a common daisy. I wanted to be beautiful too, like my mother or like—" She points at me."—his sister Sophie. They are both petite, beautiful, and perfect. Like porcelain dolls. Always tidy. I was all knees and elbows and freckles with my crazy dark hair and unruly curls. When I wasn't in the wildflower field, I was playing with the dogs and cats or in the barn with the horses and I'd have dirt smudged on my cheek. I was always a mess."

With Miranda standing here in a gown looking like a goddess at a foosball table, I think back on the little girl from that day and my heart flips. Two sides of a beautiful coin. And I've been blessed to see them both.

She's trembling in my arms. From what I've seen, she doesn't share much about her past with her friends. It's her choice to tell them what she wishes. I will support her either way. I give her a gentle squeeze that I hope conveys my intention. Miranda raises her head and our eyes lock. I give her a gentle smile and maybe it's my imagination, but it feels like her trembling lessens. She takes a deep breath, and maintaining our eye contact, continues, "Declan finds me and sits next to me on this dusty stone wall bordering the field and asks me what's wrong. Of course, I blurt everything out. And he stayed. I was always told by my parents I talked too much, and no one cared about my nonsense. Stop being dramatic. But Declan stayed and listened to me."

"Do you remember what I said?" I ask. Lost in her serene gray eyes. The clouds there before have been chased away.

She shrugs. I guess she needs a reminder. I take her hand. The one without the wad of snotty tissue in it.

Taking a deep breath, I look at my teammates and friends. The tips of my ears are probably glowing red from embarrassment but if this is what Miranda needs, I will do it.

"Okay, I'm paraphrasing because I like to think I can speak more eloquently as a man than I could as a ten-year-old boy, but the sentiment is the same. And I'm Irish—we're a poetic people, at any age."

Our friends give supportive chuckles and smiles bolstering my bravery. If Miranda can lay her soul bare, I can too. Looking deeply into my Miranda's eyes, I share my memory.

"Roses are beautiful, but daisies, tulips, daffodils, and dandelions are too. They are all beautiful in their own way. Some are flashy, like roses and lilies, drawing your attention to their blooms and scents. Some are delicate and rare, like orchids. Some last for a brief while in spring, like tulips and daffodils. But some, some are constant and determined and bring an unexpected bit of color and beauty. Those are the daisies and dandelions. They aren't going to call attention to themselves, they don't have to be coddled. They don't bloom briefly and then fade. In a rocky field, you aren't going to find a rose. You know what you'll find? A daisy. Walk along a lane and suddenly there's a daisy in your path and it makes you smile because it's there, an unexpected treat. People like roses because of how they look, but they love daisies because of how they make them feel. Daisies are my favorite flower."

Miranda looks at me like I've hung the moon and I'm about to lower my head and give her the kiss I've been longing to give her for years.

"Pass the toilet paper." Stone's request is like a record scratch on one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I don't care if he's my teammate and friend. I'm checking him into the boards the next chance I get.

I glance around and all our friends, every one of them, has toilet paper wadded up in their hand and are wiping their eyes and noses. Not mockingly.

Brick clears her throat. "I think you should wear this one tomorrow night, Randi."

Miranda nods in agreement as she glances up shyly at me. "Yeah, I think so."

The girls go back into our apartment and to the closet. Carter comes around the table and starts pulling at the sleeves of my t-shirt. I twist away.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Looking for your heart. It's on one of those sleeves. Dude, I didn't realize what you were telling me earlier. I get it now." He holds out his hand for me to shake, and I take it. "Good luck. She deserves to be happy. So do you."