Page 45 of Montana Memory

He released me like I’d burned him. Then he was up and off me, stumbling back like he couldn’t get away fast enough. His breathing was still ragged, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

My own chest heaved, my pulse still wild, but I stayed where I was. I didn’t move. Didn’t rush him.

He turned away, his whole body tight, muscles wound like a spring ready to snap.

I pressed my palm against the floor, grounding myself before pushing up to sit. My wrist ached. My ribs did too. But I wasn’t the one who was hurting the most. I watched him, waiting.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, wrecked. “I hurt you.”

I shook my head, my throat thick. “No, you didn’t.”

His eyes found mine, guilt burning in their depths. “I could have.”

“But youdidn’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he turned away again, his back a rigid line of tension, before walking away and into the bathroom. A few moments later, I heard the shower start.

I got up and walked over to the door. I stood there for a moment, fingers pressed lightly against my wrist, feeling the dull ache beneath my skin. It would bruise. I knew that much. But that pain—thispain—was nothing compared to the look on Hunter’s face before he’d bolted.

The horror. The self-loathing. The belief that he was a man beyond saving.

I wasn’t going to let him drown in that. Pushing off the doorframe, I stepped inside.

The bathroom was thick with steam, the mirror above the sink fogging over, as I closed the door behind me. The floral-patterned shower curtain was pulled closed, but I could still make out Hunter’s broad frame beneath the spray, his hands braced against the tile, his head bowed under the pounding water.

“Hunter.”

He flinched, muscles flexing, but he didn’t turn.

“You should go,” he said, voice hollow, stripped of the sharp edges it usually carried.

“Not happening.”

I didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t hesitate. Stepping forward, I peeled off my shirt, pushed open the shower curtain, and stepped in behind him, tugging the curtain closed.

The mist from the hot water hit me instantly. My hair flattened under the weight of it, the droplets of water bouncing off Hunter’s back, sliding down my arms and soaking my front.

Hunter still wouldn’t look at me. I reached out, fingers barely grazing his arm before he jerked away.

“Don’t.” His voice started to break on the word. “I don’t—” He exhaled hard, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve this.”

I stayed put. “I won’t break.”

His back was rigid, his shoulders hunched, every muscle in his body coiled like he was bracing for a fight.

I kept my voice soft. “And I know you won’t hurt me.”

His jaw ticked. “I already did.”

“No, you didn’t. Not really. And not on purpose.”

His breath came fast, sharp, like he couldn’t get enough air. I inched closer, slow and steady, resting a hand on his bicep. His skin burned under my palm, his whole body tight and trembling.

He felt like stone. Unyielding. Tightly wound. But he hadn’t pulled away, so that was something.

Slowly, his shoulders lifted on a deep inhale. The exhale that followed was rough, like it had scraped its way up from somewhere deep inside him.

“I shouldn’t be around people.” His voice was raw, barely there over the rush of water.

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