I walked through the garden door, meeting him before he’d even stepped off her back porch.

“Yeah.” He barked out a laugh. “I’m not the pretty one who now shops at the mall. Nice haircut,” he jabbed.

“Nice buzz cut,” I shot back, teasing. “You trading in the Boss for a minivan next?”

He dropped his head back, sighing. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to keep the smile off my face.

My brother and I had always gotten along before we lived in the same house. Since then, you could mistake us for five-year-old girls.

We argued, constantly challenged each other, and neither backed down in a difference of opinion. The shit was getting thicker, too, and it was going to get worse before it got better.

There can’t be two alphas in the pack, after all.

He looked at me, annoyance written all over his face as he put his hands on his hips. “So, what do you want?”

I tipped my chin up, getting serious again. “I have a contact at the prison. Just got a call from them,” I said. “He’s being released tomorrow at noon.”

His eyebrows nose-dived. “No, we would’ve been notified.”

I nodded. Yeah, you would think.

“Sounds like it happened pretty quickly,” I offered as he stepped down the stairs, coming closer.

His brown eyes searched the ground and then eyed me with obvious concern. “Are you sure?”

“Sure enough.”

Corvin might’ve given me shit notice, but he was giving me accurate info. I trusted him, and I knew that if I called right now and gave him the go-ahead, my father would never wake up in the morning.

When I began working for Ciaran, he’d found out about my father. Even offered to “take care” of him for me, but I’d shot him down.

I didn’t know if Jared and I were still scared of our father or just worried, but neither of us wanted to wonder where he was or what he was doing.

Jared shook his head, in denial. “He won’t come here.”

“He’ll definitely come here,” I countered in a calm voice.

“How do you know?”

“He calls,” I admitted without hesitation.

He cocked his head, peering at me. “You’re talking to him?”

I breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, for hours,” I taunted. “We share gluten-free recipes and gossip about Pretty Little Liars.”

Jared cocked an eyebrow.

“He calls,” I said flatly, “I issue a few nicely placed threats, and we do it all over again the next week, Jared. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

He ran a hand through his short hair, shaking his head at me. “You should’ve told me.”

“Why?” I shrugged. “So you can lose your mind over shit you can’t control?”

I knew my brother loved me. I knew he’d do anything to protect me. And that was the problem. Jared could be sloppy, and he always advanced without thinking first. He worried too much, and while I knew he did everything in my best interest, I didn’t want to have to clean up whatever mess he made as well as deal with the problem he’d still failed to solve.

“We need that restraining order,” I pointed out.

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you didn’t want it.”

“Yeah, well”—I ran my hand over the top of my head, glancing up to my bedroom window—“I’ll take every measure possible to protect her.”

He nodded, looking at me knowingly. “Now you see.”

I didn’t nod or say anything. He knew he was right. A restraining order might not do any good, but every precaution that could be taken needed to be taken.

“It’s the weekend,” he pointed out, thinking. “Jason might not be able to do shit until Monday.”

His mother’s new husband—and Madoc’s father, Jason Caruthers—should be able to get us a restraining order quickly. But it being Friday night, he might not be able to reach a judge.

“All right,” he blurted out, looking as though he’d just come to a decision. “Let’s just go. Tate and Fallon were planning a camping trip for next week. Let’s just go now until we can get the restraining order in place.”

He dug his phone out of his jeans, continuing. “Let the girls sleep. I’ll call Madoc to warn him to start getting the gear together first thing in the morning, and you and I will go for provisions. We’ll head to the falls and stay off the radar for a few days.”

I thought about it, knowing a long weekend was doable. I could get caught up on e-mails and other business tonight, and Ciaran hadn’t sent me any new work, so it should be fine.

“It’s a plan,” I agreed. “We’ll hit the store at eight.”

I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm.

“You should’ve told me,” he repeated, worry clear in his eyes.

I knew he wasn’t trying to get on my case. Despite our bickering, my brother wanted to be there for me, and I knew he didn’t appreciate me keeping him in the dark.

I gave him a thoughtful nod, understanding his concern.

I cleared my throat. “And you should tell Tate,” I advised.

“Tell her what?”

“That you hate ROTC,” I replied. “That you have absolutely no idea what you want to do with your life, and that you’re suffocating.”

His back straightened, and he looked angry. But I knew I was speaking the truth. On the occasions I was in Chicago and saw him with his classmates, he looked out of sorts. Completely uncomfortable and out of place. He wasn’t in his element, and from certain things he’d said, I knew he wished he was home instead.