Love For Keeps (For The Love 0f Sports Book 1) Read online

  Also by Maria Hoagland

  Billionaire Classics

  Beauty and the Billionaire Beast

  Her App, a Match, and the Billionaire

  Falling for Her Billionaire Best Friend

  Cobble Creek Series

  The Inventive Bride

  The Practically Romantic Groom

  The Combustible Engagement

  Romance Renovations Series

  Home for the Holidays

  Kayaks & Kisses

  New Year’s Resolutions

  Love for Keeps

  Santa Cam

  Still Time

  The ReModel Marriage

  Love for Keeps

  Maria Hoagland

  Copyright © 2018 by Maria Hoagland

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and not meant to be construed as real.

  Cover design © 2018 by Red Leaves Press

  Author photograph by Erin Summerill © 2015

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  What to Read Next

  The Cobble Creek Series

  To the best soccer goalkeeper I know.

  Thanks for sharing your passion with me. Your determination and dedication are an inspiration!

  * * *

  1

  Rules had their advantages, Kendall Nomellini reminded herself. Eventually, following them would put her ahead in a way she couldn’t anticipate but would be altogether fantastic and amazing. It had to. Not only was that her philosophy in life, but she’d staked her career on it. If a city building inspector didn’t follow the rules, who would, right?

  Part of her knew it was a lie she was telling herself as she plugged one foot metaphorically in front of another. And she was getting to the point that she could barely believe it anymore. If there was any karma in the universe, she wouldn’t have had to watch her ex-husband go from exactly the same position she was still in—struggling to make ends meet—to where he was now. Reading how he was named Dallas–Fort Worth’s Homebuilder of the Year seven years running tended to leave her a bit jaded. It wasn’t fair that he was being rewarded. Not when rules like fidelity in marriage didn’t appeal to the high and mighty Andrew Ellison. Neither did expectations like making it to even a few minutes of his own son’s soccer game.

  Squinting against the sun, Kendall scanned the sideline opposite the soccer pitch, looking for him. After ten years of marriage and at least another five of them knowing each other, she could pick Andy from a lineup of camp chairs and video tripods even if it was fifty yards away, and he simply wasn’t there. Her eyes flicked to the goal where their son waited for the play to come his direction. At least it didn’t seem Drew had spent as much time looking for his dad. He knew exactly where the ball was, unlike her.

  Kendall shook her head. As today’s head coach, she needed to stay involved in the game almost as much as the goalkeeper needed to. But who could blame her? It blew her mind that the man hadn’t shown up, when she had hoped—for Drew’s sake—that he would man up and show Drew once and for all that he was more important to his father than Ellison Homes and the bottom dollar. But he hadn’t.

  Although in her heart Kendall knew Andy wasn’t there, it was possible he was somewhere in the massive soccer complex, maybe grabbing a hot dog or cold drink from the concession stand. With over twenty soccer fields occupied at capacity all hours of the weekend, the tournament to benefit Hartford Hope would raise a lot of money for one lucky family in their community. It was possible Andy was somewhere in that mix of players and their families, but if he wasn’t at Drew’s side, no amount of marketing would make up for it, even if his company helped sponsor the charity.

  Well, it didn’t matter to Kendall anymore what Andy was up to or how he prioritized his life. He’d lost the opportunity to be on her Future Plans list a long time ago. Hers were simple: work enough to pay her bills and college tuition; finish school—if the lack of sleep and the way-too-young, side-eyed college students didn’t do her in; and raise fourteen-year-old Drew the best she could, with or without his father’s influence. What her plans did not include? That was easy. Any kind of romantic relationship, buying a house in the near future despite a desperate longing for one, or planning that trip to Barcelona she’d always wanted.

  Life was like playing soccer. If you pushed yourself and put your everything into it, it would leave you nauseated, sweaty, and exhausted, but the reward? Your team might land on top, and maybe you would even have some fun along the way.

  In the blur of a green jersey, one of the opposing defenders flew toward TJ, Kendall’s best forward, taking him out with a slide tackle. Having successfully stripped the ball from him, the other team took off to the other side of the pitch, leaving TJ on the ground with wide eyes and hands clamped around his ankle.

  “Oh, come on, ref!” Kendall threw her hands up in the air but clenched her jaw to keep from saying anything else. This wasn’t the first time the other team had resorted to cheap tricks, nor the first time the referee hadn’t called it. And to think she’d been taken in by his attractive physique when he’d first stepped onto the field. No more. Good-looking or not, she didn’t like how he called a game.

  Kendall turned her back to the field for a split second to regain her composure, and then refocused her attention on the boys playing their hearts out on the pitch. While technically only the assistant coach, today Kendall was the sole coach on their side of the field and the players were relying on her to keep her cool. This referee, though, was making it all but impossible for her to keep her emotions from taking over.

  In principle, Kendall subscribed to the philosophy that yelling at a referee didn’t do anyone any good, even if you were the coach. In all her years of playing soccer, she had yet to hear a referee say, “You know, I think you might be right. Let’s back up and change that.” Though that would be pretty great, the idea was ludicrous. If anything, a coach yelling at a ref only ran the risk of backfire. No, ticking off a referee wasn’t in her team’s best interest this early in the game. But convincing herself to take that advice in the heat of the moment was proving difficult.

  By the time she turned back around, TJ was off and running again, proving he had flopped to draw the call. Even if he hadn’t been injured, the play had been dangerous. Wanting to yell something else, Kendall blew out a long breath and pulled a few wisps of hair back with her hands. The late-summer humidity put her in desperate need of a headband, the foam pre-wrap kind she’d worn throughout her own soccer days.

  She tucked the sprig of a curl back with the rest of her hair, but it sprung free a moment later when she lunged to the side to get the backup right wing’s attention. “Get ready to go in. Evan’s having trouble getting number eight off his back, and I think he needs
a cooldown.”

  She wouldn’t have to worry about it if the ref was doing his job. Since he was allowing the game to run a little more physical than usual for this age, Kendall would have to bench Evan until he pulled himself together. Maybe the two of them could fume on the sideline together.

  Ha. Like that would help.

  Before the next throw-in, the players switched, and Kendall crossed her arms, taking in the smooth machinations of the club team. Simon had them well trained. TJ faked out the other team’s defender and, with perfect precision, landed a beautiful cross at George’s boot. One touch and George rocketed it toward the goal, only for the center ref to blow his whistle.

  “What is he calling now?” Kendall muttered through clenched teeth. So far, whatever she had said from her position on the sideline had been ignored—but was it her imagination, or had the calls progressively gotten worse for her team?

  The referee’s hand went straight up, calling it offside. It was too bad the call was against her team—not to mention just plain wrong—otherwise, Kendall could appreciate the definition in every one of his muscles. The referee pointed where the ball should be placed to resume play. Hopeful he would be set right by another referee, Kendall turned to the assistant referee, who stood as slack-jawed in surprise as she’d been at the call.

  “AR didn’t think it was offside.” This time Kendall glared straight at the center referee and made sure she was loud enough to be heard.

  What was she doing? Kendall was not one of those parents who always thought they knew better than the referee. She’d never felt to micromanage every little call. Experience playing taught her even good refs couldn’t call a perfect game. Still, this guy wasn’t using the resources he had at his disposal to help him keep from making mistakes. Like this one. If he’d followed his ARs like he was supposed to . . .

  Kendall sucked in a breath and clamped her jaw tight. Seriously, coaching the under-fifteen boys’ club was Simon’s job, and he was much better at this than she was. Unfortunately, participating in this tournament had been Kendall’s last-minute idea, and Simon had had plans he couldn’t reschedule. So here she was—finding out exactly what she was made of, coaching-wise. She was doubtful her shoulders were strong enough to carry the stress, the push to win. That had to be why Kendall was having so much trouble holding her tongue. Head-coaching a competitive soccer team left her responsible for the outcome.

  Or maybe it was the referee that had her out of sorts. What was it about him that put Kendall on edge?

  The other team had long since put the ball back into play and sent the ball down to the other side of the pitch, but Kendall couldn’t let it go. Another whistle, and Kendall was wishing the guy would swallow the thing. At least there wasn’t stoppage time, or by now they’d be looking at twice the game length. The referee stopped the play right in front of her.

  “Seriously?” She didn’t try to keep her emotions in check. This time the referee must have thought the body contact was too much, and he was calling a foul. “The arm was at his side; he didn’t even push off.”

  Whistle Ref ignored her and pointed where he wanted them to start play—away from her team once again.

  “Come on, let them play, ref. They’re fourteen; they’re learning how to play the game.”

  The referee turned his body toward Kendall, and his striking brown eyes caught hers. So he wasn’t a robot. Not expecting the two of them would actually interact, Kendall felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She’d been caught.

  “It’s your job to teach them, coach, not mine.” It was the smoothness of his voice, the calm nonchalance that made her do a double take.

  Whistle Ref, with his sun-bleached hair and body-builder physique, quite possibly was a decade older than she’d guessed at first glance. This wasn’t some college frat boy. Nerves over coaching before the game had kept her from picking up on this tidbit, but now there was no blocking the obvious physical attraction she felt toward him. Yet no caliber of physical perfection could make up for the fact that the guy was a terrible ref.

  Kendall ripped her gaze away from the ref’s eyes, only to be distracted by the way his cobalt-blue shirt stretched across his chest. When had they updated the referee uniforms with something other than shapeless old-man clothes?

  “Sub?” She choked on the word, getting her head back in the game.

  “No one’s ready.” His eyes cut to the center sideline, where, of course, Kendall didn’t have any players waiting. He turned his back and followed the play as it resumed.

  Infuriating know-it-all.

  That was his job.

  The problem was that this game was not at all going as planned. If Kendall wanted to be a control freak about something, coaching wasn’t the place. There were too many variables, too many things she had absolutely no control over—like Whistle Ref here—but the boys had been on fire at the start of the game, and it seemed a shame to lose this one.

  That infernal whistle again!

  “You’re wrong!” Kendall threw her hands into the air and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Do you even know soccer?” Whistle Ref turned and glared at her—the only other time he’d responded directly to her outbursts—but she wasn’t backing down. Forget being the passive coach; sometimes a coach needed to take a stand. “I bet you’ve never even played.”

  “That’s enough.” The ref put his hand out, palm down, and pumped it up and down, telling her to simmer down. “You need to calm yourself and let me do my job.”

  Kendall took a step forward. “I’d be happy to, if you’d start doing it.”

  The hand became a stop sign. “Don’t cross the line.”

  Feeling rebellious, Kendall challenged him, confidently—or stupidly, she wasn’t sure which—stepping onto the pitch.

  Whistle Ref pulled his plastic yellow card from his shirt pocket, showed it to her so she knew he was penalizing her, and then held it overhead for the rest of the world to see. With the muscle in his jaw popping in and out, the ref noted the penalty in his tiny little notebook. One more and she’d be ejected from the game.

  Fine. That would shut her up.

  It was all Kendall could do to make it to the end of the game with her mouth closed. Muzzled by the yellow card, she had no choice. There was no assistant coach to bail her out if she got ejected, and she couldn’t risk not being able to coach the next match a couple of hours from now.

  When the referee finally used his whistle as intended and signaled end of game, Kendall blew out a breath of relief. That was the longest game in the history of club soccer. Surprisingly, her team had eked out a win by one point, no thanks to the one-sided calls that almost handed a victory to the worst team in the league. Simon would have held a grudge against her forever if his team had lost.

  “Good job, guys!” Kendall donned her best congratulatory grin and started to plan her rah-rah speech to wrap things up. Some plays hadn’t gone as smoothly as she would have liked to have seen, and a few players had been unsure of positioning, but most everything else had been spot-on. If it weren’t for the stupid referee, they would have earned the W easily.

  Swallowing the bitter aftertaste of the narrowly won victory, Kendall joined the follow-the-leader line of players congratulating the other team and coaches. For the sake of being a good role model and an overall nice person, Kendall acknowledged the two assistant referees and, begrudgingly, the center ref.

  “Thanks,” she muttered to the center referee after his assistants took off. Her eyes darted to his only because it was polite.

  “Thank you for being here.” The referee stuck out his hand for a formal shake, which caused Kendall to pause. She took his hand, nervous over his good looks and suddenly feeling completely self-conscious. Remaining silent, she allowed him to finish speaking. “We appreciate you being part of this tournament.”

  Odd. As if he had anything to do but collect his paycheck at the end of the tournament. Still, he was trying to be nice, so she endured it w
ith as much grace as she could muster.

  Up this close, Kendall noticed things not obvious from the soccer pitch. First off, she was pretty sure the man in front of her would look really good in business attire—like a necktie wouldn’t look completely out of character for him. Beyond the business side, though, she sensed a playfulness about him, as evidenced by his blond-tipped, light brown hair. Golden-brown eyes were topped by what was easily his most intriguing feature—eyebrows that curiously matched his hair: blond on the top where the sun beat down, with a light brown underneath. Surely the man didn’t dye his eyebrows . . . did he?

  His demeanor complemented his look—the unexpected combination of businesslike formality with an edge of humor. Like he’d forced the handshake that had to be his way of getting back at her for being difficult during the game. And then he mentioned the charity.

  Stink. He had to go and remind her that he was probably working the game pro bono to help raise funds. He was probably a nice guy. “It’s all for a good cause,” she said, when what she really meant was What we won’t put up with for the sake of charity.

  “I sure hope so.” What was that supposed to mean? Did he have his doubts about the work of Hartford Hope? Was he sore that he wasn’t getting paid enough? “And hopefully the next game won’t be as difficult.”

  Ouch. For a moment, Kendall was speechless. Just when she was feeling bad about being a pain, he went and pointed it out. If he was saying she was difficult, he had no idea how he came across. Unless he was referring to himself rather than criticizing her. Kendall could give the referee the benefit of the doubt; maybe he wasn’t used to refereeing or something. That would explain his skills—or lack thereof. Whatever, as long as he didn’t end up on her schedule again in the next two days.