Page 24

KINGMANS IN THE HOUSE

FLYNN

I was trying my best to pay attention to the president lady’s talk, but something kept niggling at my attention. No way she actually had that donkey in the house, right?

So I quietly moved toward this strange sound that was suspiciously familiar. Like the bray of a certain farm animal I knew. When I opened the door, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a scared and bolting baby donkey wearing a KAT bandanna.

I’d faced down three-hundred-pound offensive lineman and stared into the bright lights of Sports Channel cameras, but nothing prepared me for the fastest feet west of the Mississippi, galloping through a room full of sorority sisters, their alumnae, and my father, right in the middle of the award ceremony that was supposed to get me in deeper with Tempest.

The national sorority president was finishing her speech about Mom’s legacy of embracing life’s chaos with grace.

But all eyes in the room swung toward me, once again, chasing a baby donkey.

My dad watched with his signature stone-faced WTF expression.

The one that had terrorized two decades of college athletes.

“Flynn Kingman,” the National KAT President, snapped as the donkey knocked over the display featuring Mom’s old KAT photos. “Of all the nights for one of your infamous Kingman disruptions?—”

Behind her, Mrs. Henderson, the house mother, turned an alarming shade of purple. Tempest stood frozen in horror, and I knew I had to do something. Fast.

Think, Kingman. The same instinct that helped me read plays on the field kicked in. Only this time, instead of protecting my quarterback, I needed to protect Tempest.

I lunged for the donkey, but the little escape artist sidestepped me with surprising agility. Defensive training since I was five, and I was being outmaneuvered by a baby farm animal.

“Dr. Sterling,” Tempest said, clearly trying to maintain her composure as I circled the refreshment table trying to knab the little stinker. “I can explain?—”

The donkey darted left, snatching a cucumber sandwich. Little bugger wasn’t scared, he was hungry.

The national president adjusted her designer glasses with a perfectly manicured finger. “I’m waiting.”

Another grab, another miss. The donkey was making me look like a rookie. This didn’t bode well for the combine. If any of the scouts saw me now, I’d never get drafted.

“You see,” she squeaked, “I’ve been volunteering at the animal sanctuary. ”

The donkey brayed victoriously and knocked over a crystal punch bowl. “And their main barn flooded.”

“Young lady,” Dr. Sterling cut Tempest off, “this is completely unacceptable. In my thirty years with KAT?—”

“He’s mine,” I blurted out and finally snagged the baby donkey, getting the bandanna and using it like a collar.

I also grabbed another cucumber sandwich and led my hungry friend to position myself between Tempest and the president.

“I convinced some of the sisters to help me temporarily house him. They had nothing to do with this.”

Tempest’s head snapped toward me, her eyes wide. I gave her a subtle wink before turning back to face judgment.

“And you thought a sorority house was an appropriate location for livestock?” Dr. Sterling’s voice could have frozen hell.

“No, ma’am.” I flashed my most charming smile and blinked up at her. “But I only recently found out my mother was a KAT at UCLA, and I hoped because of their reputation for philanthropy, they’d take pity on me and my poor, homeless, orphaned, adorable baby donkey.”

“Just like your mother,” Dr. Sterling said, and despite her stern tone, I caught a glimmer of something softer in her eyes. “April could turn any momentous occasion into an adventure. Though even she never managed to smuggle livestock into an award ceremony in her honor.”

Dad cleared his throat. “To be fair, Vicky, there was that incident with the mariachi band and the piglet during finals week when she was a junior.”

“Bridger Kingman, don’t you dare bring that up right now. ”

“Ma’am? Did you... know April De la Reine personally?” Tempest asked.

“She was my ‘lil sis.” She smiled, clearly remembering good times. “I was a bridesmaid at their wedding.”

The donkey slipped right out of that bandanna and trotted over to my father, who until now had been watching the scene unfold with his arms crossed.

To everyone’s surprise, the animal pressed its head against Dad’s leg like an oversized puppy.

A muscle twitched in Dad’s jaw, the closest thing to a smile he showed in public.

“She was quite the prankster,” Dr. Sterling said softly, her stern facade cracking slightly. “Always getting into scrapes, but her heart was in the right place.”

Dad cleared his throat. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it seems.” He reached down absently to scratch behind the donkey’s ears. “Though this is a new level of chaos, even for a Kingman.”

Aha. I knew what to do.

“Dad,” I started, “I know it’s a lot to ask?—”

“No.” His voice carried the same authority that had commanded football fields for twenty years. “Absolutely not. I have neighbors, Flynn. Respectable people who don’t expect livestock next door.”

Uh, that was bullshit. Trixie and Chris lived next door and had the noisiest rooster on the planet who woke up the whole damn neighborhood most mornings.

The donkey looked up at him with big, soulful eyes. Dad’s hand stilled on its head.

“Sir,” Tempest addressed my dad, her voice quiet but determined. “We’ll find another solution. I promise?—”

“One week,” Dad interrupted, and I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile as the donkey nuzzled his hand.

“You have until next weekend to figure something else out. And you’ll both be responsible for its care.

” He fixed me with the look that had launched a thousand wind sprints.

“This doesn’t interfere with your combine prep, understood? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” Dr. Sterling said, looking at the donkey now contentedly leaning against my father’s leg, “I suppose this is a fitting tribute to April in its own way. She always did say college was about more than just grades and rules.”

She turned to Mrs. Henderson. “We should overlook this incident. After all, the April De la Reine Leadership Award is meant to honor sisters who think creatively and make a difference in unexpected ways—though perhaps next time, we’ll stick to less... furry forms of philanthropy.”

Mrs. Henderson deflated like a popped balloon.

I felt Tempest’s hand brush against mine, a silent thank you that sent electricity up my arm. I resisted the urge to grab it, to pull her close and promise that I’d always have her back.

“Right,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Let’s get this chaos machine to his temporary home before he decides to redecorate the whole house.”

“Lead the way, Queen Titania.” I grinned, then turned to my father. “Think Declan will bring his truck over to help with the move?”

Dad pulled out his phone, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Already texted him. Your brother says he’s bringing Wiener the Pooh for moral support.” He paused. “God help us all.”

The donkey brayed in what sounded suspiciously like agreement.

The thing about having seven siblings is that crisis management becomes a spectator sport. Within fifteen minutes of Dad’s text, my brothers had turned Operation Donkey Evacuation into a full-scale production.

“I still say we dress him up as the Dragons’ mascot,” Isak said, filming everything on his phone. “No one questions the mascot.”

Declan, who’d shown up with his fiancé’s dachshund, shook his head. “And risk another head-falling-off incident? Did you learn nothing from the pep rally?”

“Boys,” Dad’s voice carried across the KAT house lawn. “Less commentary, more action.”

I turned to Tempest, who stood next to me watching my family’s chaos with wide eyes.

“Sorry about... all of this.” I gestured to where Hayes was attempting to coax the donkey with organic carrots while Everett consulted Wiki How articles about livestock transport. This is what the off-season looked like to my family.

“Don’t be,” she said softly. “I’m not used to people helping like this, and honestly, it’s kind of entertaining. Definitely good for a, uh, story later.”

Something in her voice made my chest tight. Before I could respond, Gryff jogged up with Declan’s truck keys dangling from his finger.

“Got the getaway vehicle,” he announced. “Though Declan says if there’s any damage to his precious truck, you’re running suicides until the combine.”

“Noted.” I caught the keys. “Where’s Chris? We could use him to quarterback this situation.”

“He stayed behind with Jules and Trix to prepare a place in the backyard for BadonkaDonk to hang out in this week. But they said to tell Tempest that Luke Skycocker sends his regards to his fellow farm animal revolutionary.”

Tempest’s laugh caught me off guard—a real one, not the guarded chuckle I usually got. I wanted to hear it again.

“Okay, people,” Dad clapped his hands, every inch the coach taking control of his team.

“Here’s the play. Flynn, you and Tempest lead our friend here to the truck.

Declan, you and Gryff provide blocking. Hayes, you’re on lookout for any curious neighbors.

Isak...” He sighed. “Try not to make this go viral.”

“No promises, Dad.”

I turned to the donkey, who had finished the carrots and was now eyeing Wiener the Pooh with great interest. The dachshund, to her credit, stood her ground.

“Ready?” I asked Tempest.

She squared her shoulders. “Lead the way, quarterback.”

“I’m a linebacker.”

“I know.” Her smile was small but real. “But right now, you’re calling the plays.”

We made it approximately ten feet before everything went sideways. A car alarm went off down the street, spooking both the donkey and Wiener the Pooh. The dachshund took off running, which the donkey apparently took as an invitation to play chase.