Page 53 of Montana Memory

I took a sip. “It’s working.”

We passed food between us—fried chicken, fruit, the pastries we’d grabbed from Deja Brew. The kittens got their own pile of kibble, batting at it like it might fight back.

After a few bites, I leaned back on my hands, glancing at Hunter. “You know…this is technically my first date. Or at least, the first one I remember.” I gestured at the spread in front of us. “So far, it’s a solid ten out of ten. Good food. Good wine. Good company. And kittens—always a win.”

It didn’t take long for us to finish our food. The kittens settled, lazily sprawled across the blanket, their bellies full. Sir Pounce snored softly, his tiny body curled against the corner of the picnic basket. Biscuts and Moose were huddled together behind him. Clouds were moving in, and it was getting a little colder. Hunter seemed fine, but I wrapped the second blanket around myself.

I should’ve felt peaceful. Should’ve let myself sink into this moment—this rare, unexpected piece of something good. My ten out of ten date. But I couldn’t make my mind stop. Maybe it was everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours—getting our three little wards, the lovemaking, the PTSD night terror, thinking Hunter was gone…

I stared at the waterfall, watching the way it trickled into the rocks at the bottom, endlessly moving, endlessly changing.

“I have to start figuring out my life.” The words slipped out, quieter than I meant them to. “I can’t stay in that cabin forever.”

Hunter didn’t respond right away. He finished his sip of wine, setting the plastic cup aside. “You don’t have to rush. I know for a fact Lucas is okay with you staying at the cabin as long as you need.” His voice was calm, steady. “You’re still Jada Banks, memory or not. We’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“You don’t have to do it alone.” He leaned back on one arm, watching me with that unwavering intensity of his. “I can get Jace Monroe, my computer buddy from Citadel Solutions, to look into your finances—see what kind of options you have.”

The thought should’ve been reassuring. Instead, it made my stomach twist. My past—everything I’d done, everything I’d been—it all felt like a ticking time bomb. One wrong move and I’d find out something worse than I already had.

But I also couldn’t keep living in limbo. And what could possibly be worse than knowing I’d been a kidnapper? I let out a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

Hunter studied me like he was trying to figure out how far to push. “Nothing has to be done today. Or tomorrow. You have time.”

I exhaled slowly, pushing my hair away from my face as more clouds came up. “I know I should be panicked about my future. And I am, kind of. But…I’m not entirely sad that there’s no antidote for the memory drug.”

Hunter didn’t react right away. He stayed quiet, his gaze on me, listening.

I looked down at the sleeping kittens, Biscuits curled against my leg. “Maybe it’s better this way. If I don’t know, I don’t have to face the person I used to be.”

Hunter’s voice was even when he spoke. “You’re afraid of what you’ll find?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” I let out a rough laugh, shaking my head. “I mean, I already know I did bad things. And I tell myself I’m different now, that I wouldn’t make the same choices if they were presented to me right now, but… What if I would? What if I’m justwiredthat way? To be selfish and uncaring of other people. To be willing to get what I want, no matter the cost.”

“I’ve asked myself the same thing,” he admitted.

I blinked, turning to him. “You have?” I shouldn’t be surprised. He was right to be worried about the person I was on the inside.

“Not about you. Aboutme.” His jaw was tight, his fingers toying with the label on his water bottle, peeling it back piece by piece. “I’ve killed people, Jada. As a soldier. And after.”

I absorbed that. Not just the words, but the weight in them. I’d known from the first second I saw him crashing into that cabin that Hunter was dangerous. He carried himself like a man who knew exactly how to end a life if he needed to. But knowing and hearing him say it were two different things.

I met his gaze. “But you fight on the side of justice.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Doesn’t always feel that way.”

The confession made something ache in my chest. Without thinking, I reached out and squeezed his hand. His skin was warm, callused, his fingers strong but still.

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I think you’re a good man.”

“And I think you’re a good woman.”

His eyes darkened, something unreadable shifting behind them. He didn’t pull away. We sat there like that, the moment stretching between us, under the gathering clouds. We would need to leave soon. A storm was coming in.

Finally, he exhaled. “We’ll still search for an antidote. If we find one…you get to choose whether you take it.”

I looked back at the waterfall. “Maybe sometimes a blank slate is the best way to start over.”

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