Page 107 of Montana Memory

I grabbed a couple of my textbooks from the counter and placed them in a backpack, not wanting to take a chance on their getting misplaced in a sea of boxes since I had homework I still needed to do.

“You know you can cut out your shifts at Pawsitive if you need to focus on school.”

“I know. Lark said the same thing.”

Speaking of family, Lark had actually been the one to encourage me to sign up for classes in the first place, despite the fact that it meant it would leave her shorthanded at Pawsitive.

“You know you’re welcome here as long as you want.” She’d leaned on the fence that day a few months ago. “But…you ever think about doing something else?”

I blinked at her, mid-swipe. “Besides shoveling alpaca poop and explaining to goats why they shouldn’t eat my clothes?”

A grin tugged at her mouth. “Yeah. Like… I don’t know. Taking a class. Figuring out what lights you up.”

I paused, brush dangling from my hand. “I like it here.”

“I know,” she said, her voice softening. “And you’re good at it. I’m not kicking you out.” Lark nudged my shoulder. “But you’ve got this rare opportunity, Jada. A clean slate. No baggage. No box someone else shoved you into. You could study literally anything. Vet work, accounting, hell—pottery.”

“I don’t know what I’m good at.”

“That’s the fun part. You get to find out. And I think you should.” She looked at me. “Even if that means losing my best damn employee.”

The next day, she’d emailed me a link to the local community college schedule. Next thing I knew, I was signed up for Introduction to Glass Arts, Advertising 101, and College Algebra.

That latter was for the birds, I could tell you that for sure. I would definitely not be a math teacher.

My classes had definitely taken a lot more time than I’d expected, but that was fine since Hunter had been home so little over the past few months.

When Lucas had offered him the lead on Warrior Security, Hunter hadn’t been sure he’d take it, and I hadn’t pushed. Too many people. Too much responsibility. Too many chances to fail at something that mattered. But the minute he started building his team—calling old friends from the Army, guys he trusted, guys who’d lost just as much—something in Hunter clicked back into place.

It had been a sight to behold.

He still had tough days, but they weren’t the kind that left him shaking in the dark or locking himself in a gym until his hands bled. He was sleeping more. Smiling more. He even teased Jensen last week for singing to his carburetor like it was a damn lullaby.

Everyone noticed.

And yeah, I missed Hunter. I missed the way things had been at the cabin before his calendar filled with strategy meetings and training drills. Some days, I wanted to drag him back and keep him to myself. But then I’d see him with his team—shoulders loose, eyes sharp, steady—and I knew.

This job gave him something he hadn’t even known he needed. Something to belong to. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

There was only one more thing I needed to do before we left this cabin and moved forward with our life. Get rid of something I didn’t want to take with me—physically or metaphorically.

I walked over to the kitchen sink and grabbed the antidote vial that had been sitting at the corner of the counter, untouched, for months now.

It felt heavier than it should—like it carried more than just liquid. Maybe it did. It sat in my palm, tiny and glassy, theliquid catching the light as I turned it slowly between my fingers. Sir Pounce hopped up onto the counter beside me, tail curling around his paws, eyes flicking from me to the vial like he knew this was a moment.

Hunter walked in from the other room. He paused when he saw me. “You thinking about where to pack it?”

I didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped my fingers around the vial, the glass warming against my skin.

He crossed the room in three slow steps. “Jada…”

“I’m not taking it with us. I’m going to pour it down the drain.”

His brow furrowed, just enough for me to see the worry behind his calm. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I looked up at him, steady. “It’s time.”

He rested his hands on the counter on either side of me. “You might want it one day. You might want to remember.”

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