Two tickets, p.1
Two Tickets, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is fictionalized or coincidental.
Two Tickets
Copyright A. J. Manney (2023). All rights reserved.
The right of Amanda Manney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the authors.
Edited: Dotty Manney
Cover Design: Manney Resource Solutions
Layout Design: Manney Resource Solutions
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
To Macey, our Type 1 Diabetes Warrior:
I wrote this so that you can have a character to relate to and not be afraid of what the future holds, that you might face it with courage and strength with God at your side.
Prologue
Aiden
“Brooks, my office!”
I ignore my teammates who immediately start yelling and carrying on, like I’m getting called into the principal’s office. Idiots. I shove my blade protectors onto my skates and stride after my coach. “What’d you do now?” Sebastian asks with a grin as he steps off the ice and follows me. I don’t answer him; I rarely do. And yet, he’s still here. Beside me. Like a puppy.
I knock on my coach’s door and step inside when I hear him yell to come in. I stand right inside the door. I’m not going to sit. I’m sweaty and irritated. All I want is a shower and then to head home, but I’m stuck here instead. I fight back the urge to bark at him and just keep my mouth shut; I’ll wait him out. When the door opens, and our Miss PR sweeps inside, I nearly groan out load. She always makes my life miserable. Always. If she’s here, it’s not a good sign. Katie, Karen, Casey...something. She’s always making our lives difficult. Who knows what she wants now.
“Good evening, Brooks,” she says, calling me by my last name. I don’t bother responding.
Coach nods towards one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. Both are custom made to handle the large bodies of professional hockey players. “Sit.” I don’t argue with him, despite the fact that I don’t want to sit. I cross over to that side of the room and drop my large body down into the chair.
“All right, we’ll get right to it,” Miss PR person says. “Christmas is several weeks away and with that, it’s the time of year when we try to amp up our benevolence.” Her words slide in one ear and out the other as I think through what I need to do tonight when I get home before I crash in bed. I’ve got an early morning and need to stay on track. We leave tomorrow morning early for back-to-back away games.
“Right, Brooks?”
My coach’s voice and the use of my name drags my attention back to the conversation. I realize I've missed everything that’s been said. But I know better than to argue with my coach. About anything.
“Right,” I respond, hoping I haven’t just pledged my soul to the devil.
“Great,” Miss PR says with a wide smile. “You’re supposed to be there at one o-clock. Somebody from the school will show you where to go.”
Wait, what? School? What am I doing at a school? My scowl deepens.
“You just have to present the tickets and then you can leave,” she continues.
I stare at her, but she doesn’t respond to my look. She’s ballsy; I'll give her that. My stare usually intimidates everyone. She just looks away like she can’t be bothered by me. I'm trying to piece together what it is exactly that I’ve been committed to. I don’t really know or care, but I do know I am not the right person to represent our team. To kids. I stare at her and then my coach. “Why me?” I growl when neither of them say anything.
“Because of your sweet disposition,” she says without missing a beat. I scowl at her. “See? Right there. Rein in the scowl. I didn’t choose you for this.”
“Then who did?” I bark out.
"I did.” Coach Seers sits back in his chair. “You need to do something to clean up your image.”
My scowl deepens. “What image?”
“Have you ever read about yourself online? Checked your socials? Listened to sports’ radio? Watched ESPN?” Miss PR asks.
“No.” And I don’t intend to start now either.
“Well, you’re not exactly Mr. Charming,” she responds. “Your image is pretty rough. We need to clean it up, make you more relatable. Everybody sees you as...” she pulls out her phone. “Aggressive, broody, easily angered, beast on and off the ice. He’s the one you want to avoid. One hit against the glass, and you might not get back up. If enforcers were still a thing, Brooks would be one; and he’d be a good one. He’s probably the roughest, toughest player in the AHF.” She looks up. “It goes on.”
I stare at her. “I don’t see the problem.”
“Of course, you don’t,” she says with a long-suffering sigh. “This is not the 1980’s. This is hockey right now. Today. Enforcers are no longer a real thing.”
I keep the scoff off my face. Enforcers are indeed a real thing; ask any team. We just don’t talk about it like we used to. Everybody wants to pretend they no longer exist; they’re trying to clean up the game of hockey...which is stupid if anybody asks me.
“We are trying to move hockey into the modern era. More family friendly, not a drunken brawl. To do that, we have a certain image to portray. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why you’re taking these tickets to the school on Monday.”
I say nothing. I don’t want to do this, but if Coach says I have to, I don’t have a choice. I stare her down, willing her to change her mind and pick somebody else. Somebody like Sebastian or Rico. Everybody loves those guys. Me? Not so much. And that’s fine with me; that’s the way I like it. I cross my arms over my chest. “Are we done here?”
My coach’s eyes narrow at me. “You’ll take the tickets to the class this Monday and deliver them. Try to smile, Brooks. Try not to scare the children.”
“Be here at 12:30, and we’ll ride over together,” Miss PR says. I keep my mouth shut. “All you have to do is present the tickets to the teacher and her students, and then you can leave.”
I stand to my feet, towering over her. She doesn’t back down. “I’m out.” I walk towards the door.
“Brooks.” My coach’s voice stops me.
I look back at him. “Take Perez with you; maybe he can keep the kids from running away in fear,” he says dryly. I nod and step out the door and take a deep breath.
“Whew! Must have been some meeting,” Sebastian says, startling me.
I scowl at him. “Were you eavesdropping?”
Sebastian gives me his most innocent look. “Who me? Never.”
“Since you were eavesdropping, I don’t need to tell you that you’re going with me on Monday,” I growl out and walk past him. I need a shower, and then I want out of here.
“Where are we going?” he asks, like a puppy at my heels. It will never cease to amaze me that this guy, who looks and acts like a golden retriever puppy dog is one of the leading forwards in the AHF.
“A school,” I grunt out, hoping he’ll leave me alone. No such luck.
“A school? Ooo, will there be sexy, single teachers there?” he asks. I don’t answer him. I head to the locker room, so I can shower. “Why are we going to a school?” he asks. “What’s at the school?”
Knowing he won’t leave me alone until he gets his answers, I give in to his pestering. “We’re delivering tickets to a game.”
“Why? What game? How many kids?”
Yep, a puppy. I pull my shirt off and throw it on the bench. “I don’t know. Ask Miss PR all your questions,” I growl out.
He smirks. “Miss PR? Is that what you call her?” His eyes widen. “Oh, please tell me you called her that to her face!
Nope. Didn't know. Don’t care to know. I step under the scalding water and let the water drown out my teammate’s voice. I don’t think about the tickets again. I’ve got a game to prepare for. It will be over in a matter of minutes; nothing to stress about. I’ll get in there, pass off the stupid tickets, and get out. Easy as pie.
Chapter 1
I shrug on my sweater and slide my feet into my favorite boots, check to make sure my medic kit is in my bag before slinging it over my shoulder, and grab my coffee and keys before jogging down the stairs in my apartment building and out the front door. Ah. The crisp, cold November air hits me, making me shiver; but I'm thankful for it. It helps me wake up fully. My car waits for me in my assigned parking lot. She’s a little old, but she’s faithful and steady and that’s just what I need. I shiver when I get inside and quickly start her up, cranking the heat.
My drive to school doesn’t take long, and I enjoy the trip. The last of the stubborn leaves hanging on to trees still hold some of their color. It won’t be long before the first snow hits, and those remaining leaves will be long gone. I can’t find it in my heart to be sad; not when it means my favorite season is coming. I grin as I turn up the music. Thankfully, there’s a small station that plays Christmas music starting November 1st. It’s my favorite! I might have a slight obsession with Christmas, but I don’t even care. I love Christmas, and anybody that doesn’t is not right in the head.
When I get to school, I head inside, thinking through my morning. “Bri!” somebody shouts, causing me to turn. I grin as my best friend and fellow teacher hurries to catch up with me. She may be my best friend, but she’s my opposite in every way...all the best ways. She teaches history, while I teach English. She’s tall, where I’m short and...curvy. Yeah, let’s go with that. I’m always trying to lose that extra ten or so pounds hanging on. She has long dark hair that falls in perfect waves over her willowy frame. My blond hair needs to be straightened every single morning, and even then it usually makes it only until lunch before it’s frizzy again. Probably the biggest difference between us is the way we dress. She dresses in pantsuits and looks every part the teacher she is. Meanwhile, I feel best in my comfy jeans or leggings with a long sweater and a pair of cute boots. Which is exactly how I’m dressed today. I’m wearing my softest gray leggings with an equally soft cream sweater. I paired it with a pair of soft gray booties. I may or may not have an obsession with boots, especially booties. They're my favorite.
“Brielle!” she calls again, as if I didn’t hear her the first time.
“Hey Stephanie,” I say with a grin.
She looks at me skeptically. “Why are you always so cheerful on Monday mornings?”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’m like this every day, not just Monday.”
“Yeah, it’s disgusting,” she grumbles, causing my smile to grow.
“Come on, Steph,” I say, linking my arm through hers. “It’s a beautiful new morning and the start of a new week. What’s there not to be cheerful about?”
“You listened to Christmas music this morning, didn’t you?”
“I totally did,” I tell her as we walk inside the building together.
She shakes her head. She’s one of those haters who only listens to Christmas music after Thanksgiving. News flash; turkey still tastes like turkey, even if you listen to Christmas music. I don’t say anything. It’s an argument I know I won’t win. “Did you finish those papers you were grading?” she asks me.
“I did, finally. It was a good weekend; I got a lot accomplished.”
“Better enjoy it while you can, right?” she says with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, that’s for sure.” Soon, my weekend job will start; I smile just thinking about it.
“When’s opening weekend?” she asks.
“Next weekend.” I can’t keep the smile off my face. It’s the best time of year. The Saturday before Thanksgiving every year, Bluebell Valley, our small town in Northern Wisconsin, turns the center of town into Christmas Village. People from all over come to our small town to skate on the huge ice rink and to visit all the pop-up shops all around the rink. My shop, of course, is my favorite. Hotta Choc-o-lotta. I may not be a great baker, but I know how to make a good cup of hot chocolate. That’s what my shop is—gourmet hot chocolates. I smile, just thinking about it.
“Good morning, Ladies,” Mr. Goodman, our principal greets us.
“Good morning, Mr. Goodman,” I say with a smile. He’s a stout older fella; he’s always busy and rushing from one thing to the next. But he’s a good man. He loves the students, and for that, he gets an A plus in my book.
“Teacher meeting in five minutes,” he reminds us as he rushes down the hall. He’s always rushing somewhere.
“I’m going to drop my bag off; I’ll meet you there,” I tell Stephanie. I’m humming to myself as I walk to my classroom. With the hand not holding my coffee cup, I turn on the lights and smile. I love my classroom. It’s decorated with every kind of English teacher fun you can think of. It’s got corny grammar jokes and English lit quotes on the walls, and my favorite—a running list of the frequently misspelled words I catch on my students’ papers. It’s even got a few of mine; my students love when I misspell something. It doesn’t happen often, but I'm human. I drop my bag off and quickly check my email. When I see I'm not missing anything earth-shattering, I grab my coffee and head to the teachers’ meeting.
The room’s still somewhat empty when I get there, which isn’t surprising. It is Monday, after all. I sit near the front and take a few sips of my coffee while I wait. I use my notes app on my phone to create a grocery list for tonight after work. “Good morning, Brielle.” I glance up as Rob slides into the seat next to mine.
“Good morning, Rob. How was your weekend?” I ask the straight-laced math teacher.
“It was productive,” he responds. “How was yours?”
“It was busy but good,” I say with a smile and look back at the list on my phone.
“What’s your weekend look like this weekend?” he asks.
Lettuce, shrimp, mayo...
“Brielle?” I look up from my list. “What’s your weekend look like?” he asks.
“Oh, sorry. I was working on my grocery list,” I say with a laugh. “My weekend...” I have to stop and think about it, but I don’t get a chance to. Stephanie slides into the chair on my other side, right on time. Principal Goodman walks into the room.
“Happy Monday,” he says as he gets to the front.
I smile. Same old, same old. He says the same thing every single Monday morning. And just like every other Monday, nobody really responds...mostly because the room is still somewhat empty, or asleep. By the end of the meeting, the room will have filled up. It’s how it always is. I continue my list discreetly on my phone, mostly to give myself something to do. I love Mr. Goodman; I really do. But he’s dry and long-winded, and that combination is not a great combination for first thing Monday morning.
He drones on, and I nod at the appropriate times. Home games on Friday. Check. Important away tournament for the Chess team. Check. Thanksgiving parade for the younger kids. Check. Thanksgiving break. Double check.
“And then the last announcement for today. I have big news; I want everybody to pay attention to what I’m saying.” It’s silent for a minute, and I glance up. He’s looking right at me. Busted. I slide my phone into my pocket discreetly, right as Stephanie elbows me hard enough in my side that I jerk and wince. So much for not being obvious. “Today is a big day for our school,” he says with as much excitement as he’s capable of. I’m not going to lie; it's not a lot. One of our classes has won tickets to a hockey game. And that’s where I tune him out. I go back to my shopping list, mentally. I don’t want to risk pulling out my phone and getting into trouble again. He drones on and on about hockey. Honestly, I don’t get it. We don’t even have a hockey team here at school. I know I live up to the stereotype of an English teacher, but I am just not into sports. Never have been, never will be. I don’t think I will ever get over the insanity that this school and others go through each season. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t a sporty kid. I also wasn’t a music student, nor was I in chess club. Basically, I wasn’t popular...at all. Now, if we’d had a book club, I would have been president of it! Sadly, those didn’t exist when I was in school. But now I make it my purpose to find all kinds of groups for kids to get involved in. Not everybody is a jock, a nerd, or a musician. There are plenty of other students who are just as amazing, even if they never play chess, a sport, or an instrument. I shake myself and climb down off my proverbial soapbox and just in time.
