Chapter 25 #2
“Harry,” Kendra started, clearly flustered.
“She's also been developing ideas for authentic documentaries that focus on the human element without exploitation,” Harry continued, looking directly at Kendra with obvious admiration. “She's exactly what this show needs.”
Tally studied Kendra. “Is this true? You have ideas for the show?”
Kendra straightened, finding her confidence. “Yes, ma'am. I believe we can showcase the real rookie experience, the pressure, the brotherhood, the adjustment to professional sports, without inventing conflict or violating anyone's privacy.”
“She's brilliant,” Harry added quietly, and the look they exchanged made it clear this was about more than just professional respect.
Tally nodded slowly. “Kendra, congratulations. You're the new producer of Rookie Rising. Harry, I assume you'll be happy to stay on as lead camera?”
“Absolutely,” Harry said, smiling at Kendra, who was trying very hard not to smile back.
“Good. We'll discuss your vision for refocusing the show after we deal with... this.” She turned back to Sloane.
“Security will escort you out. Your personal items will be sent to you. Your final check will cover the work completed. But expect a bill from the legal department about the legal fees FlixNChill will incur cleaning up your mess.”
“You can't just—“
“Actually, we can,” the older executive said. “Your contract has a morality clause and a section specifically about exploitation of subjects. You've violated both extensively. I'd recommend you keep your mouth shut, slink away, and hire yourself a good lawyer.”
Two security guards had appeared. Sloane looked around the circle of faces, finding no sympathy anywhere.
“This is a mistake,” she said. “I was making great television.”
“You were exploiting vulnerable young men for ratings,” Artie said quietly. “There's a difference.”
As security led Sloane out, she turned back one more time. “You'll regret this. The show will be boring without me.”
“No, I don't think it will,” Kendra said, already pulling out her tablet and making notes.
The moment the door closed behind Sloane, I pulled out my phone and opened the group text I'd created with all seven guys once they agreed to be open within the context of our coalition against Sloane.
It's done. She's gone. Fired, potentially facing charges, and all materials on the way to being destroyed. You're safe.
The responses were immediate:
JAMIE
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU
CARLOS
I can't believe it's over
DEVON
You're a hero man
TYLER
I owe you everything
RAY
Tell your family thank you from all of us
ANDRE
First round's on me next time we play you guys
XANDER
Thank you doesn't even cover it
Xander immediately called.
“Is it really over?” he asked.
“It's really over,” I confirmed.
I could practically hear him sag with relief, and I wished he was here so I could pull him into a hug. Of anyone I'd ever known, he needed one.
“Hey, man, put me on speaker.”
I did. “Thank you. All of you. I don't know how to—“
“You're family,” Dad said simply. “This is what family does.”
Kendra approached me hesitantly, with Harry trailing behind her looking supportive. “Gryff, Flynn? I was wondering if you might do some fresh interviews, partly so I can get to know you a bit and what you'd like to get out of this experience. No drama, no forced revelations, just... real life?”
I looked at Flynn, who nodded.
“We'd be happy to,” I said. “The real story is way better than whatever Sloane was trying to manufacture anyway. Being a rookie is freaking wild.”
“I promise it'll be respectful,” Kendra said. “No ambush interviews, no invasive questions. Just authentic storytelling.”
“That's all we ever wanted,” I said.
Harry stepped forward. “And Gryff? I'm sorry I didn't come forward sooner. I should have—“
“You protected those guys' identities while gathering evidence,” I interrupted. “You gave us the hammer for the final blow. We had plenty of paper evidence, but nothing beats reality TV. Thank you.”
He nodded, clearly relieved, then glanced at Kendra. “We should probably go plan the new shooting schedule.”
“Right. Yes. Planning.” Kendra was definitely blushing now.
As they walked off together, already deep in discussion about the show's new direction, Artie leaned into me.
“Those two are totally going to end up together,” she whispered.
“Obviously. Did you see the way he looked at her?”
“Did you see the way she looked at him when he called her brilliant?”
As everyone started dispersing, Artie slipped her hand into mine.
“You did it,” she said quietly.
“We did it,” I corrected. “I couldn't have done any of this without you, Parker, Dad, everyone.”
“Still. You stood up for those guys when you could have just protected yourself.”
“That's not who we are,” I said. “That's not who any of us are.”
She went up on her toes and kissed me, right there in the middle of the practice facility. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Okay, lovebirds,” Flynn called out. “We still have actual practice.”
Later that evening, Artie and I were back at our house, a bit emotionally exhausted but victorious. Parker had given us a folder with copies of everything she'd found on Sloane. Her real transcripts, the documents from the lawsuits, the evidence of her lies.
“What should we do with this?” Artie asked, holding the folder.
“Shred it? Burn it? Frame it and then burn it?” I suggested.
Before we could decide, Vincent trotted into the living room, spotted the folder, and snatched it right out of Artie's hands.
“Vinnie, no,” Artie laughed, but he was already chomping down on Sloane's USC expulsion letter.
Holly, not to be outdone, jumped onto the coffee table and grabbed a chunk of papers, including what looked like Sloane's headshot. She proceeded to chew one half thoroughly before spitting it out.
“Are they...” I started.
“They're eating Sloane's dirt,” Artie confirmed, watching in amazement as Vincent destroyed a court document with prejudice.
Then, in what could only be described as poetic justice, Holly squatted and pooped directly on what remained of Sloane's headshot.
“Did she just—“
“She did,” Artie confirmed. “Holly Goatlightly just delivered her verdict on Sloane Mitchell.”
I waved my hand in front of my face. “Oh geez. Apparently pure evil digested stinks. Whew, Holly. I think you might need a colonoscopy or something.”
Vincent, not to be outdone, lifted his leg and peed on the pile of shredded documents.
We stood there, watching our goats literally shit on everything Sloane represented, and I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing. Artie joined in, and soon we were both on the floor, crying with laughter as our goats continued their systematic destruction of Sloane's legacy.
“Even the goats knew she was full of shit,” Artie gasped between laughs.
“Literally,” I agreed, watching Holly do a little victory dance on the remains of the folder.
Vincent looked at us with those wise goat eyes, a piece of legal document hanging from his mouth, looking absolutely pleased with himself.
“You know what?” I said, pulling Artie against me. “I think the goats had the right idea all along.”
“Destroy your enemies by eating them and pooping on their remains?”
“Exactly.”
“Very Kingman of them.”
“They learned from the best.”
As we sat there in our living room, surrounded by shredded papers and goat droppings, Sloane Mitchell officially reduced to nothing more than goat food and fertilizer, a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.
It was over. Really, truly over.
The guys were safe. Xander was free. And Sloane Mitchell would never hurt anyone in the League again.
“You know what this means?” Artie said suddenly.
“What?”
“We can go to Colorado for Christmas without any drama hanging over us.”
“Just regular Kingman family Christmas chaos?”
“The best kind of chaos.”
We cleaned up the remains of Sloane's career, now literally goat waste. Sometimes justice came in really strange ways.
Sometimes it wore a suit and carried legal documents.
Sometimes it was a family standing together against a threat.
And sometimes, it was a couple of baby goats eating and shitting on people who deserved it.
“One more game, which I'm not hopeful of winning,” I said. The Bandits weren't kidding when they'd recruited Flynn and I to be a part of the rebuilding of the team. We weren't making the playoffs no matter what. Maybe next year. “And then a drama-free Christmas.”
“With your family? Drama-free?” She laughed. “That'll be the day.”
She was right, of course. But it would be our kind of drama, the kind that came with love and laughter and too many people trying to help in the kitchen.
The kind that didn't involve blackmail or threats or forced revelations.
Just family. Just love. Just us.
And maybe a couple of goats who'd proven themselves to be excellent judges of character.
“Vincent Van Goat,” I said solemnly, “Holly Goatlightly, you're officially the best judges of character in this family.”
They both looked up at me, pieces of Sloane still hanging from their mouths, looking enormously proud of themselves.
As they should be.
They'd delivered the perfect verdict. Stinky, but perfect.