The only constant in life is that things will change when you least expect it. On the day of Derrick Andersson`s retirement ceremony, a late-season tropical storm parks itself over the City of Brotherly Love. The women who love the Wildcats will not only have to deal with the deluge outside, they will have to struggle through some of the greatest personal storms they will ever weather.
Liz and Veikko receive devastating news, Maggie and Derrick face a shocking announcement, and Isabelle and Philip receive the verdict of Philip’s court battle. Can Viviana and Alain work out the problems that have torn them apart? What has life dealt young lovers Petro and Margarite? The answers to those questions, as well as a surprise that will rock the Houseman, are revealed in this final book of the To Love a Wildcat series.
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“Don’t dis Granny Andersson,” he commented with a rather wry tone.
“You’re far too old to be using the term dis, my good man.”
“Yah? Well, last night you weren’t dissing me,” he countered quickly. I held up my hairbrush in a sign of defeat. He was right. There was no dissing last night. There was some moaning, gyrating, and pillow thumping, but nary a dis. “Ha! That got you good, eh?”
I nodded to give the man his due. His face split into a wide grin, white teeth brilliant against the dark brown of his beard.
“Yah, that’s right. Who is the man?” he asked, puffing out his chest like a proud bantam rooster. Cocky bugger.
“You are.” I sighed with proper defeatism in my tone.
He dropped his face to my neck, smooched my ear loudly, and then whistled gleefully while he finished shaving. I cleaned shaving cream out of my ear with the corner of a hand towel. Ever since we moved in with Derrick, my mornings have been so much more enjoyable. We wake up curled around each other, we play as we shower. Sometimes we play in the shower! The man makes me smile. He warms my heart when I awaken more than the sun that creeps into our window bright and early. I simply cannot imagine not having these precious few moments every morning now. After he had stepped into the shower, I thought to ask. Mascara wand in my right hand I turned to stare at his large form behind smoked glass. The query was lingering on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it down. I’d let him broach the subject of his retirement ceremony tonight. Things with the team were dicey to say the least. Not a player or person in management wasn’t walking on eggshells. I turned back to the mirror to finish my makeup as Derrick hummed something by Blake Shelton as he lathered and rinsed.
We emerged from our room about twenty minutes later, Derrick in the suit and tie all NHL players and staff are required to wear into and leaving the stadium. His tie was loose yet, and his dark brown jacket lay over his left arm. I had pulled on a rather somber looking navy dress, as I would be accompanying Isabelle to court yet again. Just thinking about my duties made me nervous. There was so much to handle being the personal assistant to a woman that owns a hockey team, as well as several other multimillion-dollar businesses. Thank God I was only tasked with making sure Isabelle’s day ran like clockwork. My boss worried me. Her blood pressure was skyrocketing, her sugar count was high, and her OB/GYN had given her strict dietary guidelines to follow. I feared if she went back next Monday at nine, and her BP and sugar weren’t any lower, her doctor would be forced to put her on strict bed rest until her son was born. Knowing Isabelle that would last exactly four hours. Then she would be up doing something. What if Philip were found guilty? She would be forced to fire him. The Commissioner was already riding her like Secretariat about the Wildcats. First Petro and now Philip. And this mess surrounding last year’s Stanley Cup winners? The commissioner was not happy. Not at all.
“Hey, you need to put them there grinds into the filter and not the pot, Mags.”
I shook off the spiraling dark thoughts. There I stood, in my kitchen, the coffee pot filled with coffee, and the filter resting inside the basket empty.