Page 183 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

The door slams shut. Oliver and the intruder, wearing all black—including a ski mask—grapple on the floor. They twist, trading blows. It seems like Oliver is going to win. He comes out on top, straddling the intruder.

Movement across the apartment draws my attention.

I scream again as a second one charges forward. He picks up something from the counter. Belatedly, I catch the gleaming ceramic of the mug.

He smashes it over Oliver’s head.

They shove at him, and Oliver scrambles backward. His gaze goes to me, frantic and wide-eyed.

“Sydney,” he yells. “Run!”

There’s two of them. Two huge men. They both advance on Oliver, who lurches to his feet. He’s drawing them away from the door.

I pat my pockets frantically, belatedly remembering that I don’t have my phone.

“Go!” he yells again.

One of them turns for me.

I rush to the door. Their fingers snag in my hair, my jacket hood. I’m yanked backward, and it takes me precious seconds to unzip my coat and slide free. My scalp burns, but I ignore it and shoot forward again.

The impact of flesh reaches my ears, but I can’t look back.

Someone shouts. I’m halfway down the stairs when I risk a glance behind me. The second man hasn’t followed—which means he stayed to help his buddy.

I get to the second floor and rush to an apartment, banging my fists on the door.

“Somebody help!” I scream. “Help me!”

No one answers, so I go to the second apartment.

“Please!” I beg. “My— I was attacked, there are intruders in my apartment!”

The door opens. A woman, older than college aged, steps aside and ushers me in. She closes and locks the door behind me.

“Do you have a phone? We need to call nine-one-one?—”

“Here.” She grabs her phone from her purse, dialing and pressing it to her ear. “Which apartment?”

“Three B. There are two men wearing ski masks. My friend is still up there, they were?—”

“Yes. My name is Elle Thorpe,” she says, her tone brisk as she talks to the dispatcher. “I need to report an intrusion in my building. An upstairs neighbor. Her friend was attacked…” She gives the operator her information, my apartment number. “No, sir, we are locked in my apartment.”

I glance around the apartment. It’s neat and tidy, if not a bit odd. There’s a framed painting of a llama staring down at me from the closest wall. I can’t tell if it’s satirical or seriously her vibe. There are even little llama figurines surrounding one of those bowls that’s for mail and whatever else.

Interesting.

Elle presses her eye to the peephole.

“The two are coming down the stairs now. Two men. Bigger guys. They’re wearing ski masks. Okay. Thank you.” She hangs up, then faces me. “Police are on their way. And an ambulance.”

I let out a shuddering breath. “They’re gone? I need to get up there?—”

“They don’t advise it,” she murmurs. “Just sit tight. You’re safe here.”

“He could need help.” I move to the door, and she steps out of my way. I slip out, racing up the stairs. My door is open.

Inside, on the floor, is Oliver. And he’s not moving.