Page 12 of The Sweet Spot

“Nope,” Tangi said, putting up her hand to stop me. “We aren’t asking for rent.”

“But I have to pay something.”

“Ethan and I talked about this already, and if you insist on paying something, you can pay the condo fees. But they are a lot. You’re looking at almost eight hundred a month.”

I cringed at that, but there was no way I would find a place to rent for less. And there was no way I’d get anything close to Tangi and Ethan’s condo. The thought of living in someone’s damp basement—even though I’d lived in worse—was not in the cards.

“That should be fine,” I said, thinking of my bank balance. I didn’t have enough to cover the first month!

“And don’t even think of paying it until you land a job.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “My parents gave me some money, but eight hundred would have bled me dry.”

“I know what it’s like starting out here,” Jill said. “I insisted on paying Tangi and Ethan something too. And if you land BrandonandRyan …”

Tangi glanced at her watch. “Oh, look at the time,” she said, shooting Jill anothercut it outlook. “It’s late for Wolseley, and I’m sure she’d like to settle in and rest. We will touch base with you tomorrow, and for now, don’t worry about Ryan. Right, Jill?”

Jill seemed to have gotten the message. I walked my friends to the door, and suddenly I was feeling tired. I put away the leftovers, took a hot shower, then crawled into bed and fell soundly asleep.

Chapter Eight

Brandon

Ihad no idea why I scheduled my taste testing with Wolseley the week of physicals, but I had, and that was a huge mistake. I was tired, sore, and grouchy by the time I got home, but also ravenous, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

The team gossip continued to surround Ryan and his girth. Maybe he’d lost ten or fifteen pounds since Tangi and Ethan’s wedding, but you could hardly tell, and when Coach Anthony saw him, I thought the top of his head would pop off. Taking my role as captain seriously, I grabbed Ryan when we both had a few minutes and decided to talk to him. Two years ago, I would have told him to man up, get his shit together, stop eating crappy food because there were hundreds of guys who could take his place, but that would be Dad talking. I had finally found my own voice.

“How are things going?” I’d asked.

“Fine,” he’d said curtly. Ryan wasn’t the type to have attitude, but I could only assume after a full day of ribbing from histeammates and doing shitty on endurance tests, he’d had enough. I’d be pissed off too.

“I know it’s been tough and?—”

“Not a lecture, please,” he said, holding up a hand to me. Especially from you. You’re going to give me shit and tell me how I should be disciplined and that I need willpower and a desire to be better. I’ve heard your speeches before.”

I’d never seen him so pissed. The guy was normally a big puppy dog.

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you needed anything from me. I know the guys have been assholes, but I’m not going to pile on. If I can help, let me know how. The last thing you need is one more person on your ass.”

Ryan was a huge guy who towered over me. He could pound me into next week, and when he was on the ice, I’d fear him if he’d ever come after me, but off the ice, he was one of the nicest guys, and I hated to see what he was going through. The old me would have given him a lot of unsolicited advice, suggested diets and workouts, but the new me was going to lend support and help him with whatever he needed to get past this. Even though I wanted to tell him to get his shit together.

Ryan had rubbed at his brow and looked at me with his dark brown eyes. “Should I hire the chef?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Is food the issue?”

He’d motioned for me to join him in the empty personal trainers’ room. We’d gone inside, and he shut the door.

“You’re like a lawyer, right? Anything you tell me stays between us?”

I’d wrapped my head around that one but ultimately agreed to keep my mouth shut.

“It’s not just food,” he’d said. “My friends back home, they like to party, and I got mixed up in that shit. We were drinking a lot, smoking a shit-ton of weed, and eating. Or, Iwas the one doing all the eating. I didn’t hit the gym once, not until after Ethan’s wedding. You know, when everyone gave me all the looks. Thing is, I’m worried I’m still drinking too much.”

This was my first big-boy captain job. I’d taken in a deep breath and channeled the new me not to tell him to just stop drinking, because that’s what my father would say, and honestly, that was a stupid suggestion. Also completely unhelpful because when things got bad, people couldn’t just stop something or simply fix it. It took time. But I also had no experience with alcoholism. I didn’t drink much, and neither did anyone in my family. But I went with what I’d known and hoped I’d been helpful.

“Do you think you can stop drinking, or is that something you think you’re past being able to do?”

“I don’t know. I was drunk most of the summer. And now I think a few beers help me relax, and that’s not good.”