Page 145 of Colliding with Ten

She cried, her body shaking against mine. Fingers twisted in the back of my compression top. On my way here, I was still in my game jersey and pads, but I had removed them in the truck. Kissing the top of her head, I breathed her in. The scent of her reassured me she was alive and unhurt. I didn’t know who I would’ve become if they'd gotten through that door.

She tilted her face up, eyes swollen, cheeks wet, and her mouth trembling. I took her face in both hands and kissed her everywhere. Forehead. Temple. The bridge of her nose. Both cheeks. The corner of her jaw. I tasted the salt from her tears.

She laughed through the crying. I’d take anything over the sound she’d made on the phone when they hit the door.

“I’m here. Nobody’s touching you tonight. Not ever.”

She nodded against my hands, tears still streaming. I pulled her back into me as we stood in my driveway, surrounded by the wreckage of the night.

When we went inside, I wished we hadn’t. Glass from the entryway light fixture was scattered across the tile. In the living room, a lamp lay in pieces, the coffee table was knocked sideways, and one art piece had a cracked frame. The detective said the motive was robbery. Various valuable items had been gathered near the door for transport. The drywall in the hallway had been gouged where they ripped the art pieces. A closet door was open, the contents dumped. Then, upstairs, my bedroom door was splintered around the lock.

Ayla stood behind me, shivering, her hand on the back of my arm. We couldn’t stay here tonight. I thought about a hotel, but I wanted her to feel safe.

An hour later, my mother opened the door to their house, still wearing the jersey she had worn to the game. My father stood behind her in sweats, both of them looking grim. One look at Ayla, and my mother pulled her in. My father gave me a hug and a clap on the back.

They steered us toward the guest room, and I left Ayla to get cleaned up in the bathroom. I stood in their kitchen, still in my cleats, giving them a rundown of everything that had happened. My mother clutched my dad as they listened.

My phone had been vibrating nonstop since I left the stadium. The group chat was going off with dozens of messages, most of them variations of ‘what happened?’ and ‘bro, answer your phone.’ Jace had texted and called multiple times, escalating from concerned to alarmed.

I typed back to Jace: I’m fine. I’ll explain tomorrow.

I answered the rest of the texts with the same short message. I checked the team’s media feed. The press had been told I’d left due to residual symptoms from the concussion two weeks ago. For now, the story was contained.

With the phone weighing down my pocket, I stood in the guest room, listening to the shower and watching my mother make the guest bed. Ayla came out with damp hair and red eyes. My mother had given her a T-shirt and shorts that were mine from college. She looked small in them.

My father squeezed my shoulder on his way out, and my mother kissed Ayla on the forehead, a gesture so maternal that Ayla’s eyes welled up again. After my shower, we lay down, Ayla curled against my side, with her head on my chest. She still had a low tremor. I kept my arms around her and watched the ceiling.

She tried to sleep, but her body would jerk awake. Each time, I tightened my arm, pressed my mouth to her hair, and waited for her nerves to relax again. With each interruption, it took her longer to settle the next time.

I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I watched her with obsessive fury. During the night, I decided to take her back home to her brother's safety. I had to deal with the police, the insurance, and the security company that had failed at its only job.

I had missed more calls. Notifications stacked up when I checked the time. I locked the screen and put it away. Everything could wait.

I booked a private plane. Ayla sat by the window, staring. She’d barely spoken since last night. She slept for forty minutes, and when she woke up, she smiled at me. It was barely there, but I felt better after watching her get lost in herself for the past few hours. She held my hand for the rest of the flight.

From the airport, the driver brought us to AJ’s building. It was a high-rise on the Upper West Side. Ayla held a small bag she’d packed at my parents’ house with borrowed clothes, her phone, and not much else. Everything she’d brought to LA was still in my wrecked house.

We stood on the sidewalk outside the building.

“I would go up, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She frowned, looking at the building. “What do I tell him?”

“The truth.”

She looked conflicted.

“Tell him the truth, Ayla. All of it. You were at my house. We’re together. You got hurt because of where you were.” I held her gaze. “If you two are as close as you’ve said, he’ll understand.”

Chin trembling, she nodded and pressed her lips together. The tears came despite her efforts to hold them back. Burying her face in my chest, her hands gripped my coat, and I held her.

“I don’t want to let go of you.”

“Then don’t. At least not yet.”

We stood there in the cold for I don’t know how long. When she pulled back, I kissed her, slow and thorough. Afterward, she pressed her forehead against mine, and we both refused to let go.

“Go. I’ll call you tonight.”