“You kicked him to the curb. That’s what you did,” Connor finished. Donal huffed at his son, but Con shrugged it off. “Sorry, Da, but the man wanted our Quinn to sit in the closet with him and play Ken doll. No balls, no sex, and no life. Can’t say I’d be wanting that for my son, least of all my brother.”
“While I’m thankful everyone’s so invested in my love life, get the fuck out of my business. I’m saying you’re being reactionary, Kane.” Sliding onto the couch, Quinn stroked at the orange tabby’s fur, ruffling it slightly when he began to purr. “Nothing’s happened to me in weeks.”
“I’d feel better if you were someplace safe. I’m at work, and Sionn’s off learning how to brew IPAs.” Kane sat down on a leather ottoman in front of his younger brother. “Damie and Miki are going to be in the studio a lot. I just don’t like knowing you’ll be there alone so much. I’d rather you be someplace safer.”
“I don’t like knowing I’m there, period.” Quinn widened his eyes, mocking Kane’s surprised huff. “Please, I love you all, but I hate being there. It’s like I’m a pinball in a porn arcade. Every time I turn around, someone’s beeping or banging, and I’m scurrying off to find someplace safe. I like living alone. Or at least quieter.”
“Shit, I’ve got a suggestion.” Rafe’s mouth appeared to be having a private conversation with his dick, and his brain began to scramble to keep up. Before he could stop himself, lips and cock evaded capture and containment, and the most horrendously bad idea tumbled out of his mouth. “Just move Quinn in with me. Until all this shit’s done.”
THE APARTMENT behind the Morgan garage was cold, and Miki wondered what he’d done to piss off God enough to give him Damien as a best friend. It was bad enough he’d started his day with Kane gone, and his not-quite-awake brain muttered something about a phone call, a murder, and Kane’s loving kiss on his mouth before sliding away into the dark of an early Sunday morning.
God. Sunday.
Sundays were torture, a long anticipation of food, haranguing, and loud, messy Morgans. Maybe the murder would mean Kane couldn’t make it to the family trough, and Miki half wondered if he could skip out on that technicality alone.
“No, she’ll just come get me if I went home. Fecking witch,” he grumbled at his snoring dog. “Haven’t been in few weeks. Gotta go punch the son-in-law card once in a while, or I’ll get docked. It’s not fair, Dude. Not like I can drag him somewhere—”
Miki didn’t bother finishing his sentence. Kane would go anywhere he needed Kane to be, even a few places he didn’t, and not for the first time, Miki felt irritated at his cop’s willingness to jump into everything Miki was into.
The smell of cocoa-brushed coffee brewing was tempting Miki to crawl out of his nest. He lay on his back, debating the pros and cons of searching out a cup when Dude solved the dilemma for him.
Dude and the sneaky realization someone’d given the terrier a lima bean from last night’s dinner, because the green cloud wafting out from under Miki’s duvet was thick and foul enough to fell a T-Rex.
It was a clotted stench so strong it drove Miki from his place on the bed and into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Anything to remove the taste of dog-processed lima bean from his tongue before he had to face the fray he suspected was brewing in the main house.
He’d already walked into one maelstrom of biting politeness and sneering rejoinders that morning when Sionn and Damien circled one another around the one empty space. The brittleness in the air was sharp enough for Miki to seriously contemplate killing both of them, but instead he’d fought past them and been caught up in their argument.
Now midafternoon, Miki finally realized he’d never actually gotten his cup of coffee.
“Fuckers.” Waving away any lingering remnants of Dude’s lima-bean incursion, he was about to head out and brave the elements when the apartment door swung open, and his brother and sometimes best friend came in, skillfully maneuvering into the room while holding a pair of steaming mugs.
“Here, take one so I can shut the door,” Damien ordered.
To be fair, Miki supposed, Damien was always ordering. Or pushing. Sometimes even bullying if he were allowed. Miki took great pleasure in being the pin to prick his best friend’s arrogance, so he stood there, waiting. Damien sighed and gave a tight smile.
“Please, you asshole. Can you please take one so I can shut the goddamned door?”
“Better.” As a concession, he took both cups, sipping at the creamier one as Damien nearly gagged on the smell of Dude’s stealthy emissions. “Hey, reap it. Pretty sure Sionn slipped him a bean last night.”
“Why the fuck would Sionn do that?” Damien scraped his tongue against his teeth, then retrieved his coffee from Miki’s warmed fingers.