Page 25 of Slow Kind of Love

Would those feelings change?

“How do you know?” he asked Rose. The thought of spending the rest of his life with someone, of committing one hundred and fifty percent to that person, was something he’d never considered.

“Haven’t you been in love before?”

He grunted. Love? He’d always thought love was a fairy tale most people used to describe what was, in fact, a comfortable partnership between two sane adults who enjoyed each other in the sack. Natasha Wainwright was the only woman he’d ever said the L word to. She’d heard love; he’d meant lust. They dated for two years, but when she got sick and tired of sharing him with the press and his teammates, when she was fed up with the no-commitment thing, she’d given him the ultimatum no man wants to hear: Marry me or else. That that made it easy to end things.

Marriage wasn’t on the table for Link. Not after the disaster his father had made of his life. Tethered to a vain, insipid woman who cared more about breeding and lineage and position than her own children, or husband, for that matter.

They were miserable, and his half siblings were spoiled brats.

Luckily, Link was saved from answering when his cell rang. He scooped it up immediately. It was Hudson Blackwell, confirming their meeting within the hour.

“I’ve got to run,” he said, pocketing his cell. There’s a local taxi service if you want to mess about in town.” He chuckled. “Since we drive on the opposite side here, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get out on your own.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, jumping from her stool. “I’m going to take Pepper out on a hike.”

“I’d give her a couple of hours to recover from our run.” He pointed to the cupboard in the hallway. “There’s extra hats and gloves in there, though my boots are much too big.”

“No worries,” she replied with a grin. “I’ve got a delivery coming by noon.”

A half hour later, Link was fresh out of the shower and on his way to the sports complex. The Blackwell Foundation was the major backer of the whole operation, and Hudson Blackwell was the head of it. His brothers were on board as well, though Link wasn’t sure of their level of involvement. Boone Avery had also invested a considerable amount of money and was running a football program alongside Link’s soccer academy.

He arrived at the complex less than ten minutes later and adjusted his aviators as he slid from his truck. The sun was bright, a brilliant glare off the snow, though the temperature was anything but inviting. A brisk wind cut through him as he hunched his shoulders and walked inside, stamping his boots a few times before heading for the stairs to his right. They led up to a suite of offices situated over the main lobby. He spied Hudson chatting with a young lady as he reached the top stair.

“This is Dana, my assistant,” Hudson said as he approached the two. She was young, with pretty brown eyes and caramel-colored hair tied up in a high ponytail. Big chunky glasses framed those eyes, the trendy style somehow suiting, and she was dressed casually in jeans and oversized sweatshirt. Hudson was in gym attire and, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, appeared to have just finished a workout.

The workplace was casual, and Link much preferred it to suits and attitude and testosterone. In his mind, it was much easier to read a man dressed in jeans than staring across a desk at a guy dressed in a five-thousand-dollar Brioni suit who’s afraid he’ll spill his fancy cappuccino on it.

He followed Hudson down the hall to his private office, and while Hudson grabbed a water from the well-stocked bar, Link gazed out at Crystal Lake from the large windows that banked the entire space.

“I never get tired of it,” Hudson said, stopping a few feet away. He drained the water bottle. “When I was younger, all I wanted to do was leave. And now?” He shrugged. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” He raised his chin at Link. “It’s why I pushed for this complex even though a lot of folks didn’t want it. I knew it was coming sooner rather than later, and I wanted to be ahead of it. Wanted to control the growth and what this place will stand for. Sports is just a small part of it, really. Family and that connection is damn high on the list.”

He perched on the edge of his desk. “I’m touching base with all the folks in charge of the programs to make sure things are still a go. Your indoor field is done, and we’re all set to groom and get the outdoor field up and running sometime in May, weather permitting.”

“Sounds good.”

“Around these parts, hockey, baseball, and football are king, which is why it’s great to see so much interest in your soccer academy. I appreciate your enthusiasm, not only for the sport, but your willingness to dive in financially and pass along your world-class knowledge to the participants.”

“I’m glad to have the opportunity to teach skills to the younger kids, and I’m pleased that there’s so much interest. Based on the numbers for spring, I’ve recruited a couple of top-tier players to help train our local coaches. Michael and Jarvis are coming from England for six months to help implement a training program. They’re mates of mine from my early days in the league. And I’m meeting with Sam Sweet next week.”

Hudson’s eyes widened at that. “Sam Sweet from the Olympic team?”

“That would be the one.”

“That’s quite a coup.” Hudson looked thoughtful, as if considering his next words. “I’ve heard Sweets has some issues.”

That was an understatement, though Link didn’t let on any of the stuff he’d heard from Nate Jacobs the night before. “Sam will be fine.” At least, Link hoped so. Another client of his agent, Nate, he’d offered to help out and get the kid back in the game after a rough few years in the limelight. Bad choices and bad management were to blame, along with a healthy dose of bad attitude.

“Sounds like things are good. Unless there’s anything you need to go over, I’m fine with leaving everything in your hands.”

“I’m good with that. I was away for a month or so dealing with some family matters in England, but Nate kept me in the loop.”

“Right. Sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, still hating the thought that his grandfather was gone.

“I hope to see you at the grand opening in a month. We’re coordinating with the Mayor’s Gala, which will be held here in the new arena before we get the ice in.” He got to his feet. “Dana will have a packet for you with all the information for the opening and the gala.”

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