Page 25 of Montana Memory

He shifted in his chair. “The drug you were injected with—it’s bad news. Caleb says it’s highly unstable. The fact that you’re functioning at all is a miracle.”

My stomach clenched. I’d known it was dangerous, but hearing that I was lucky to be alive made it all too real.

“There’s more,” he continued, his voice even, controlled. “Caleb pointed me toward a dealer who might have information on where the drug came from. And if there’s any kind of antidote.”

I sat up straighter. “So, there’s a lead?”

Hunter nodded. “Tomorrow, we’ll track him down.”

I should have been relieved. And I was. But something about the way Hunter spoke, the way his jaw ticked between words, told me he wasn’t saying everything.

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not all, is it?”

His fingers tightened around his fork. He didn’t look away, didn’t try to dodge, but I saw it in the way his shoulders tensed.

“I saw Alan Ard,” he finally admitted. “That’s what took so long.”

A cold weight settled in my gut. “Why?” My own voice sounded distant.

“He had information. I needed to know if he had any connection to the people making the drug. It would’ve been a waste not to get that intel while I was already there at the prison.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “And?”

Hunter’s expression hardened. “Nothing useful about the drug. But he did have a lot to say about you.”

I forced out a breath. “Just tell me.”

His green eyes locked on mine. “He was using you, Jada. He never gave a damn about you—just about getting to Kenzie.”

I barely felt my fingers as they curled into fists in my lap. I swallowed against the sharp sting of betrayal from someone I couldn’t remember anyway. But he’d done this to me, so obviously, he’d never cared.

“He said that?”

Hunter nodded. “Outright. He’s an asshole, Jada. We’re going to make sure he rots in prison.”

Somehow that didn’t help. “Right,” I said quietly. “Thank you for telling me.”

Hunter’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “You might not always like what I have to say, but I’m never going to lie to you.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my throat burning. “Thank you,” I said, the words hoarse but honest. Because no matter how much it hurt, I needed the truth.

Hunter took the last bite of his pasta, then set down his fork with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked to me, unreadable as ever, before he pushed back from the table and stood.

“I’ll do the dishes.”

I blinked at him. “You don’t have to.”

His lips quirked slightly, just a glint of something that was gone before I could name it. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

I didn’t argue. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight over chores, not after the gut punch of hearing Alan had never cared about me at all. So, I stayed where I was, watching as Hunter rinsed the plates and began washing them in the sink. His movements were steady, methodical—like everything else about him.

Except…his hands.

They had the slightest tremor. Barely noticeable, but I saw it when he reached for the sponge, when he gripped the edge of the sink just a little too hard.

He was wound tight and exhausted. It was there in the tightness of his shoulders, in the way his jaw locked like he was barely keeping himself together. Today had taken a toll on him.

“You should get some rest,” I said quietly.

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