Page 129 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“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.
