They both had a competitive streak, it was true. What hadn’t been implanted at birth had been forged by a boyhood spent in a constant game of one-upmanship. It wasn’t just the push-ups and quarters, either. They’d constantly tried to see who could jump farther, climb higher, push harder—a good-natured rivalry that had given their parents many a visit to the emergency room.

By the time they reached puberty, Spencer had started to apply that drive to his education. The same resolution that had made it possible for him to hold his breath underwater one more second had helped him rise to the top of the class and stay there. Caleb, however, had found less productive ways of channeling his talents.

Spencer couldn’t understand it. His brother was smart. He was good with animals and even better at people. When he applied himself—really applied himself—there was very little he couldn’t accomplish. In fact, until his gambling website had been flagged by the federal government for breaking about twelve laws, it had been an undeniable success.

“It’s just a few shirts, Spencer,” Caleb said. “Let it go.”

“It’s never just a few shirts,” Spencer returned. “I can’t.”

He had no idea how long the pair of them might have stood there, trapped in a stalemate that neither one of them was willing to give up, but it was probably hours. That was the problem with sharing your DNA with another human being. His brother was part of his blood, the other half of his soul. Whatever it was that drove Caleb to recklessly push his luck was the same thing that drove Spencer to rescue him at the first sign of trouble.

“Well, I give up,” Ruby said, unlocking their horns without even being aware of it. “I don’t know what you two are talking about or why you’re getting all hot and bothered over laundry, but I have to get up early for work tomorrow. Thank you, Caleb, for letting me set up the stage on your half of the backyard. And thank you, Spencer, for dinner. I’d offer to stay and help with the dishes, but I refuse to go anywhere near that sink.”

“Oh, we don’t put the dishes in the sink,” Eva said as she came up to bid them farewell. Maury was in the middle of packing his kids into their minivan, so all he could offer was a harassed wave. “There’s a plastic tub in the front where Spencer puts everything. He washes them with the sprinkler.”

“It’s not a sprinkler,” he said, but his protest was a feeble one. He might not use a sprinkler, but he did use the hose. Living in only half a house was a lot more difficult than most people realized. “It’s a custom open-air sanitation process.”