Page 48

KINGMAN FAMILY GAME NIGHT TO THE RESCUE

FLYNN

T he KAT house was surrounded.

I counted at least three news vans and a dozen people with cameras and microphones crowded near the front steps. Students clustered in small groups at the edges, smartphones raised, whispering as they recorded the scene. This wasn’t just campus gossip anymore, this was a full-blown media circus.

I parked a block away and texted Parker.

Me: Outside. How do I get in without the vultures or Mrs. H. seeing?

Her response came instantly.

Parker: By the kitchen. Use secret knock. Three knocks, wait for the same, two knocks, wait for the same, one knock. A sister will let you in.

I circled around, keeping my head down, hoodie pulled up.

Years of dealing with sports media had taught me how to move without drawing attention.

Still, my heart hammered against my ribs.

Not for myself, for Tempest. She’d spent years hiding her identity, carefully separating her worlds.

Now those worlds were colliding in the most public way possible.

Parker was waiting at the service entrance, her expression grim.

“Thank god,” she whispered, pulling me inside. “It’s been insane. They started showing up an hour ago.”

“How is she?” I asked, following Parker through the kitchen where several sorority sisters were huddled in strategy mode.

“Not good.” She led me up the back stairs. “She’s barely said a word since she got back from campus. The whole senior class is with her, but...” She trailed off, her meaning clear.

Parker did that same secret knock and someone opened the door, ushering me in quickly. The room was dimly lit, blinds drawn against prying eyes. Tempest sat on her bed, surrounded by her sorority sisters, their protective circle unable to shield her from what was happening.

“Flynn.” My name on her lips was barely audible.

I crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of her. Her face was pale, eyes red-rimmed from crying. I took her hands in mine, relieved when she didn’t pull away.

“Hey,” I said softly. “I’m here.”

Her fingers tightened around mine. “They know,” she whispered. “Everyone knows.”

“Not for sure, and not everyone,” Parker interjected from her command center of laptops. “But those rats posted your student ID with links to your sorority profile and built a pretty convincing case connecting you to Miranda Milan. Once the first post went viral, bloggers ran with it.”

She swiveled in her chair. “On the plus side, there are so many competing theories online now that there’s reasonable doubt. This Mint Milan squad really came through with the misinformation campaign.”

I had a feeling I knew exactly who that squad was, and I was buying them all flowers, or cookies or something later.

“My mother texted,” Tempest said, her voice hollow. “She and my father are flying in tomorrow. She’s... not happy.”

The understatement was clear in her trembling voice.

I glanced around the room, taking stock of the situation.

The Donkey Sitters Club had mobilized impressively.

Bettie was coordinating with campus security by phone, Alice was monitoring social media.

Hannah had organized the whole house of girls to establish a perimeter defense.

But this was beyond what they could handle.

This needed the Kingman treatment.

“We need to get you out of here,” I said, reaching a decision. “Somewhere safe, and away from all this.”

“Where?” She looked up at me, confusion mixing with the fear in her eyes. “The reporters are everywhere.”

“Not everywhere.” I pulled out my phone. “My family has dealt with this kind of media storm before. Trust me?”

She hesitated for just a heartbeat, then nodded. That small gesture of trust hit me harder than a linebacker’s tackle.

“Parker,” I said, “can you pack a bag for her? Clothes for tonight and tomorrow?”

“On it.” She moved with impressive efficiency.

I fired off a quick group text to the family chat.

Me: Need help. Media storm at KAT house. Tempest exposed as best-selling author. Need extraction and damage control.

Dec responded first.

Declan: On our way.

Then Chris.

Chris: PR team on standby. Tell me what you need.

Hayes’s name popped up next.

Hayes: Willa and I can run interference and bring the claws if needed.

Then Everett.

Everett: Pen’s already drafting statements. Say the word.

My chest tightened with gratitude. This is what Kingmans did. We protected our own. And somewhere along the way, Tempest had become one of ours.

“My brother Declan is coming,” I told Tempest. “He was voted the meanest player in the league last season. No one will mess with him. We’ll get you to my dad’s place, regroup, figure this out.”

She nodded, some color returning to her cheeks. “Thank you.”

I squeezed her hands. “You don’t have to face this alone. We’ve got you, babe.”

Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed with another text from Declan.

Declan: Media dodge plan in progress. Four vehicles, three minutes. Back entrance to the KAT house.

I showed the message to Tempest. “The cavalry has arrived.”

Her brow furrowed. “Four vehicles?”

“The Kingman convoy. Trust me, my brothers have done this before.”

Almost exactly three minutes later, four identical black SUVs with tinted windows pulled up in sequence at the back entrance. Declan hopped out of the first one, expression all business.

“Just like we practiced,” he said to me, then nodded at Tempest. “Sorry about the cloak and dagger, but we know this routine works when the media are hounding us. It’s practiced, tried and true.”

Tempest stared at the lineup of vehicles. “This is...”

“Excessive?” I supplied. “Welcome to the Kingman approach to problem-solving.”

“Effective,” Declan corrected. “We’ve got Chris, Hayes, and Everett each driving a decoy. Once you’re in, we split in different directions. If anyone’s watching, they won’t know which SUV to follow.”

Parker handed Tempest a DSU hoodie and baseball cap. “Add these over what you’re wearing. Different silhouette from what the press has seen today.”

I was impressed by how quickly Tempest adapted, pulling on the disguise without question.

We made our exit in a carefully choreographed move, all four vehicle doors opening simultaneously, multiple people moving between them in a deliberate pattern of misdirection, before doors slammed and engines started.

I settled into the backseat of our SUV with Tempest, Declan at the wheel. The four identical vehicles pulled away in a synchronized dance, then split at the first intersection, each heading in a different direction.

“Nicely executed,” Declan said, checking the rearview mirror. “No tails that I can see.”

“You guys really have this down to a science,” Tempest said, removing the cap now that we were safely away.

“Unfortunately, we’ve had plenty of practice,” Declan replied. “The media circus around me and my fiancée got pretty intense last year. We had to get creative. We know what to do to help you out.”

“Why would you all help me?” Tempest asked softly. “You barely know me.”

The question caught me off guard. Didn’t she understand by now?

“Because you’re important to Flynn,” Dec said simply, before I could find the words. “And because no one deserves to have their privacy ripped away without consent. We protect our own. ”

My phone rang. Jules.

“Dad just declared an emergency Kingman family game night. We’re meeting at Cool Beans.”

“Game night?” Tempest asked after I hung up. “Now?”

“Kingman tradition,” I explained. “My mom wanted us to have something in our lives that wasn’t playing football or watching football. After she...died, it was Dad’s way of keeping us together when everything felt like it was falling apart.”

“It’s sacred,” Dec added. “No excuses, no absences. And always viciously competitive.”

“I don’t think I’d be good company,” Tempest said. “Not tonight.”

I took her hand. “It’ll just be family. No press, no pressure. Just people who care about you.”

“But they don’t even know me.”

“They know you’re important to me,” I said. “That’s enough.”

She studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

Her acceptance surprised me. I’d expected more resistance, more retreat into the protective isolation she’d maintained for so long. Maybe she was finally realizing she didn’t have to face everything alone.

Cool Beans Cat Café looked like an ordinary coffee shop from the outside, but inside, it was a sanctuary of comfort disguised as quirky charm.

Cats lounged on custom-built perches and cubbies throughout the space, fairy lights twinkled from the ceiling, and the scent of fresh coffee and tea mixed with the subtle aroma of the homemade treats in the display case .

My entire family was already there, the café closed to the public for our private event. Willa’s uncles, the owners, had created a Kingman-worthy spread of food and drinks along the counter.

I kept my hand on the small of Tempest’s back as we entered, feeling her tense beside me.

“It’s okay,” I murmured. “They don’t bite. Well, except maybe Jules, but only if provoked.”

That earned me a tiny smile, the first I’d seen since this nightmare began.

Chris spotted us first, raising a hand in greeting as he disentangled himself from a heated debate with Everett over what appeared to be a Monopoly strategy. He approached with his easy quarterback confidence, the same way he’d greet a rookie on his first day of training camp.

“Tempest,” he said warmly, offering his hand. “Good to finally meet you properly. Flynn won’t shut up about you.”

Before she could respond, a woman with glasses and a bright smile appeared at Chris’s side. Tempest’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Trixie? What are you doing here?”

Trixie laughed, stepping forward to give Tempest a hug that seemed to surprise her. “I guess I never mentioned that my fiancé is the quarterback for the Mustangs.”

“You didn’t,” Tempest confirmed, looking between them with new understanding.