Chapter 12

TWELVE

Colin

S crolling through my phone on the couch, I jump when plastic wrapped shirts are dropped into my lap.

"You have to move out."

I look up to see Oliver's unamused scowl.

"What atrocity have I committed this time?"

He points to the shirts he threw at me.

One is a crop top with a cute pink bunny on it and the words: Slut Bunny, and the other has a collar and leash with the words: Slut Bunny's Keeper. I'm not entirely convinced I can get Owen into this shirt, but I am going to do my best. He would look so hot in a crop top.

"Are you kink shaming me?"

"I'm not kink shaming you. I'm revoking my consent, and I'm going to press charges for you having these delivered to my house. Our poor doorman had to intercept this delivery. I may add him to the sexual harassment complaint!" He wouldn't—no—he would. Time to speed up the move out plans.

"Luckily for you, we have several appointments to look at apartments today." I swear his eye twitches, just the tiniest amount.

Owen steps out of the hallway at the perfect time for Oliver to round on him.

"You're leaving?"

"You said I should." Owen shrugs, but if his expressionless mask is anything to go by, he's freaking out. "Colin, are you ready?"

"Did you eat?" Oliver demands of Owen who nods.

I jump up off the couch, clutching the shirts in my hand. "I got us coordinating shirts."

Oliver is ready to snap. It's mildly terrifying and very interesting. He's always so in control of everything, but not anymore, and the strain is starting to show.

"Great," Owen deadpans.

"Where?" Oliver demands.

"I special ordered them online." I smile at him, deliberately misunderstanding his question.

"Where are you looking at apartments?"

The elevator dings on its arrival, and the doors slide open.

"It's fine, Oliver. This has been long overdue for some time now."

They share a look as the doors close that I can't understand, but it's heavy just the same. I have a feeling these two never imagined living apart. Ever.

"Where are we going?" Owen asks.

"Hell's Kitchen."

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me and blinks.

"There's not enough Xanax in the world for this."

"You know what helps calm the nerves?" I bat my lashes at him. "Orgasms."

The doors slide open, and he ushers me out. "Get in the car, husband."

We've been to four different places, and Owen is getting more tense with every one. Admittedly, the first one was basically a shoebox. I'll give him that.

It was a joke.

Mostly.

"Enough," Owen says in no uncertain terms when we get back in the car. "Are you purposefully arranging these places to torment me?"

I smirk out the window before schooling my face. "Maybe a little."

"I'm not going to see any more places without seeing the listing first."

"I like it when you get demanding," I purr.

He closes his eyes and leans back against the seat, clearly exhausted. Okay, I might have pushed him too far. That last one was on the seventh floor and didn't have an elevator. I'm honestly surprised he even climbed the stairs to look at the place.

Reaching for the back of his neck, I squeeze the muscles until he groans, then run my fingers up into his hair. My nails scratch lightly at his skin, and I gently pull on his hair.

"Come here," I coax, but he side-eyes me. I pull on his hair until he lays across the back seat, putting his head on my thigh as I play with his hair.

"Caffeine. I need caffeine."

"You just had one after the last apartment."

"Dealing with you is exhausting."

"I want to argue, but you aren't wrong."

I tell the driver to stop someplace for coffee. He doesn't ask what Owen wants, so this is clearly not the first time he's done this.

Owen is finishing his cup when we pull up out front of our building.

"Oliver is going to be insufferable," I sigh as I get out.

"You'll get a taste of what it's like to live with you."

"No, no. Oliver is a much bigger asshole than I am. I'm a brat. There's a difference." We step into the elevator. "And it's very easy to get me to comply. You are choosing this for yourself."

"I'm not rewarding bad behavior."

When the doors open in the penthouse, we can hear a moan echo from the hallway that has to be Isaac. I smile broadly and turn to Owen who is slightly pink and wide eyed.

"They are having a much better afternoon than we are."

"Don't start." Owen walks off toward the kitchen and turns on the espresso machine.

Slapping of flesh on flesh is added to the mix of grunts and deep moans. Lucky Isaac. Are they in the office? I wonder…

"Don't even think about it." Owen's growl has me freezing in place, almost to the hallway. That tone has me starting to harden. Fuck. What I wouldn't give for him to talk to me like that while sex was involved.

"If they're going to fuck in public spaces, they should expect an audience." And porn is not doing it anymore. Do Owen and Oliver fuck the same? Gods, I want to know.

"Sit down and find new listings." When I glance behind me, he's pointing to the couch with a hard set to his jaw.

"Yes, daddy," I sass him and plop down on the leather.

With his eyes on me, I unbutton my shirt and strip it off, tossing it to the side.

"Why are you taking your clothes off?" Owen is at the island with his mug in hand, watching me.

"If you want me to do something for you, I need you to do something for me."

"Colin…" He drags out my name in warning.

"Wear the shirt." I grab the shirt wrapped in plastic that got put back on the couch for whatever reason, and throw it at him like a frisbee.

It lands on the stone countertop and skids to a stop about two feet from him. He looks at it, looks at me, back to the shirt, and sighs.

"Fine."

A crescendo happens down the hall as I slip my: Slut Bunny shirt on. Owen is stripping out of his own and pulling on the white crop top as a slightly disheveled Oliver appears. He stops immediately when he sees the shirt his brother is wearing.

"What the fuck is happening?" Those furious eyes turn to me. "Fine. You asked for this." He points a threatening finger at me, then storms to what sounds like the office, coming back a few seconds later with a leather-bound book that's no bigger than a postcard and a bag of prescription bottles.

"What is this?" I barely manage to catch it when he throws them at me.

"His pills. Good luck," Oliver snaps.

Opening the book, I start to read.

Likes: chocolate muffins, Japanese yellowtail sushi roll from Sugarfish,silk pajamas, dark rooms. Do not turn on the big light!

There's a list of doctors and phone numbers, pharmacies, and a prescription refill schedule.

"It's on you if he throws himself off a building," Oliver says at length.

"He wouldn't do that."

"I might if you two don't stop fighting over me," Owen deadpans.

Oliver turns on him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know."

Oliver turns back on me, raising his voice. "You're not even feeding him."

"He's an adult! Why the hell do I have to feed him? He knows where the kitchen is," I throw back.

Owen shrugs, "Because I won't." He picks up his coffee and takes another drink.

"That can't be good for your anxiety," I tell him.

Oliver walks over and takes the mug out of Owen's hands, then pours it down the drain. "Are you not tracking his caffeine intake? No wonder he's not sleeping. Has he had any water? You need to download this baby tracking app." Oliver quickly finds the app on his phone and airdrops it to me.

"Is this for infants?" I deadpan. Seriously, has he gone off the deep end?

"Make sure to share the results with me," Oliver demands, ignoring me.

"Are you two co-parenting?" Owen asks.

Oliver and I both turn to yell "No!" at him.

"I'm going to go play in traffic." Owen heads toward the elevator and pushes the button. I'm pretty sure he's kidding.

Oliver is typing something on his phone, then airdrops me a calendar invite.

"Are you two making a visitation schedule?" Isaac asks from behind me. I quickly glance at him and hold in a chuckle at the glazed over expression on his face. The boy is clearly cum drunk, and I am so jealous I don't know how my skin isn't green.

"Where are you two living? You can't keep him in a dorm," Oliver asks.

"We haven't found a place yet. We're still looking. Not that you have any say in the matter."

"What neighborhoods are you looking at?"

"Hell's Kitchen." I cross my arms over my chest.

"Be serious." Oliver scoffs, and my phone starts going off with links to apartments.

"We can find our own apartment." I make a point of deleting the links he's sent me.

"You two need to separate." Isaac puts his hands on his hips between us.

"Kitten." Oliver's tone is a clear warning, and I'm not going to lie, it's hot as fuck.

Isaac sticks his lip out a little and lowers his head. "Cuddles, please?"

Oh, he's playing his husband like a violin. Oliver clearly knows it but grabs the boy and leaves the living room.

There's screeching of tires, and a car horns down at the street, and I run to the balcony, my heart pounding in my chest. I swear on everything holy I will scorch the earth if something happened to Owen!

I quickly scan the street and don't see any signs of my wayward husband in the crash. As I'm searching the sidewalk, I find him strolling toward the building with a fucking iced coffee in his hand.

"Owen! Get your ass in here! Right! Now!" These men are going to give me an aneurysm.

I don't know how he's managed it, but every time I find a listing to show to Owen, Oliver pops up behind me and vetoes it. I'm ready to stab him in the kidney.

It's been so many:

" That may be acceptable for a Covington, but a Godfrey would never be caught dead in there."

"You want him in the Upper West Side? That might as well be the Bronx."

"That's too close to Mother, absolutely not."

By the end of the week, I'm ready to snap.

"I swear to everything you hold dear, if you don't fuck off, I'm moving him into a shoebox with a five-foot walk-up in Hell's Kitchen." I storm out of the living room and into the bedroom. "Owen, are you under the chaise again?"

"Mommy and Daddy are fighting."

I should not find that amusing, but I do.

"You know, you could also tell him to fuck off and let you make your own decisions."

He peeks a bright blue eye out from under the furniture to stare at me. "Because it's working so well for you?"

"You're his brother, his twin, he'll listen to you."

"That actually makes him worse, not better. When he cares about you, he's like a rabid dog with a bone."

I look at the time on my phone and realize I have a stupid feeding reminder for Owen. For fuck's sake.

"Out, you need to eat."

He grumbles and moans but slides out and follows me from the bedroom.

"Okay, the cook left–"

"Sushi."

I glance around the pristine fridge with clearly labeled containers but don't see anything that is sushi.

"She didn't leave sushi."

"No, order sushi. I don't want whatever is in there."

"You haven't looked, how do you know?"

"Because I want sushi." He slumps onto a stool at the island and lies across the counter. "Oliver knows what to get and where."

I roll my eyes. Of course he does.

Oliver comes into the kitchen, ignoring my existence, and looks over at Owen. He stops, looks him up and down, then turns to me.

"Have you been setting out his clothes?"

"What?"

"He's been wearing that for three days." Oliver motions to his brother. Owen lifts his arm and smells his armpit, then shrugs. "Have you bought him comfort sushi? It's in the notebook."

I drag in a long slow breath. The way Oliver micromanages Owen is not healthy for either of them. Does Owen's mental health suck? One hundred percent, but that doesn't mean Oliver can treat him like a literal child.

"I was just getting ready to order sushi for him," I say with forced calm.

"And the last time he left this apartment and went for a walk?" Oliver demands.

"That's it!" I yell, slamming my palms on the counter. "We're signing something tomorrow. You," I point to Owen. "Go shower!"

"He's hiding shit from me. He's never hidden shit from me before. What have you done?" Oliver demands.

"What have I done? Maybe you should ask yourself what you've done. You're the one who changed things. You got married and left, remember? Don't fucking blame me for all your choices."

Surprise flickers over Oliver's expression for maybe the first time ever. I feel like I've won, even if it is a tiny victory.