Page 142 of Colliding with Ten

“Ayla?” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. “You okay? I saw your missed calls. I’m in the middle of the game.”

Her voice trembled. “There’s someone in the house. Is someone supposed to be here?”

My heart stopped. No one else should be there. My voice dropped as I asked where she was and told her to lock the door. She hesitated, shock slowing her down, so I pushed her. Panicked footsteps moved, and the door slammed. I breathed a small sigh. Jace frowned at me.

I shot up, shoving past players and staff. Coach shouted after me, but I ignored him. I put her on speaker and pulled up my home security app. Ayla’s words tumbled through the phone—something about them outside the door. I hoped the cameras showed nothing, a false alarm I could talk her down from. But hope died when the feed loaded. Three men wearing ski masks crowded the hall outside my bedroom.

My vision tunneled. Heat and ice tore through me as I burst into the stadium tunnel.

“Hey!” I yelled. “I need a cop now.”

Two men in security jackets snapped to attention—LAPD, working this detail tonight. They took in my face and the phone clenched in my hand.

“I need your help,” I rambled. “Three masked men are in my house. My friend is there alone. They need to send someone now.”

“Male or female?”

“Female.”

One radioed. “Dispatch, we have a home invasion in progress. Suspects masked. Resident female inside. Address incoming.”

I rattled off my address, and he repeated it.

“Units are three minutes out,” the radio crackled.

Three minutes? I could read a defensive formation, process four receivers, and deliver a ball before a blitz reached me in 2.5 seconds. My entire career was built on making decisions in fractions of a second. Three minutes felt like eternity. Anything could go wrong.

“Lennox,” Ayla whisper-shouted. “There are at least three of them. I can hear them.”

“I know, Ayla. I see them.”

“What!?”

“I’m looking at the house feed right now. Three men are in the house with you. They’re in the hallway outside my room.”

“Oh, my God,” she cried. “They’re gonna hurt me.”

The words ripped through me. I stepped away from security as they spoke with emergency personnel and pressed the phone against my ear as if I could push myself through the signal.

“No, Ayla. I won’t let them.”

But even as I said it, I knew the promise was hollow. What could I do? I couldn’t protect her from here. The distance between us had never felt more cruel.

On the feed, one of the men tested the door handle. Another paced, agitated. The third carried something heavy I couldn’t make out in the dim light. They weren’t amateurs casing a house. They knew whose house this was and hadn’t left when they realized someone was inside. They didn’t care. This must be connected to the ring terrorizing players’ homes. My blood went cold.

“Lennox, I can hear them talking.” Her voice had dropped to just above a breath. “They want something in here.”

My hand shook. I pressed it against the concrete wall. There was no doubt in my mind that they wanted my Heisman trophy. “The police are on their way. They’ll be there in two minutes.”

“I don’t have two minutes.”

Boom!

Ayla screamed.

On the feed, one man swung a sledgehammer at the door. The wood splintered but held. My bedroom door was solid, replaced two years ago with a heavier frame and reinforced hinges. I liked the look, but the security it offered served as good motivation to get it.

“Ayla, talk to me.”