Page 66 of Montana Memory

Then, finally, after miles of silence, she set it down on the center console and reached for the kittens. Biscuits let out a sleepy little mewl as she pulled the kitten onto her lap, curling up against the warmth of her hands.

She stroked her tiny head absently. “Do you think I should take the antidote?”

I kept my eyes on the road, but my jaw tightened. “No.”

Her hand stilled.

I exhaled slowly. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk, Jada. You saw Beckett. You heard him. This thing could kill you. Or worse—it could leave you trapped inside your own body, unable to move, unable to think straight.” I shook my head. “It’s not a chance I think you should take.”

She was quiet for a long time, the sound of the road filling the space between us.

“But I get it, I’m not you,” I added finally. “I’m not the one without my memories. I know who I am, who I was. You don’t. And I can’t pretend to understand what that’s like.”

Her fingers moved against the kitten’s fur, slow, methodical. “If I took it,” she said quietly, “and it made me like Beckett…maybe that would be fair.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Fair?”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “Justice. For what I did. To Kenzie.”

Everything in me rebelled at the idea. My gut screamed to grab that vial and toss it out the window, end the conversation right here, right now.

But I didn’t. Because this wasn’t my choice to make.

I forced my voice to stay calm. “You think that’s justice? Taking a drug that could destroy your brain?”

She shrugged, but the movement was stiff. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I set my jaw, staring out at the dark horizon. “Jada, if you want to make things right, there are better ways. Hell, I’d rather you turn yourself in to the cops than take that stuff.”

She fell silent again.

I reached over, brushing my fingers against hers where they still held the kitten. “You have time. Don’t rush this.”

She didn’t pull away. “I just don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

I squeezed her hand gently. “Then figure that out first. Before you decide to burn it all down.”

She nodded, but I could still see the conflict in her eyes. We didn’t talk much during the four-hour drive back to Resting Warrior.

By the time I pulled up to the cabin, the sky had deepened into full darkness as I killed the engine. The headlights cast long shadows over the porch, the wooden steps worn and familiar. Jada sat still beside me, the kittens curled up in her lap, oblivious to the storm inside her.

Neither of us spoke as we climbed out of the truck. I grabbed the small box from the floor while Jada carefully cradled the kittens, her movements slow, distracted. She was still somewhere else—in Beckett’s trailer? in her own mind? I wasn’t sure—weighing choices that had no good outcome.

I made it to the porch first and immediately spotted the note taped to the door. Jada stopped beside me, shifting the kittens to one arm as I pulled it free. The paper was smooth, the handwriting neat, deliberate.

The present is what’s important, not the past. Don’t leave town because of me. Come to family dinner tomorrow.

~ Kenzie

I exhaled slowly, my eyes flicking to Jada. She was staring at the note like it might burn her. I watched her throat bob as she swallowed, her grip on the kittens tightening slightly.

She was shaken. I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket. “You okay?”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “No.”

At least she was honest.

I nodded. “That’s fair.” I pushed open the door, letting her step inside first. “You don’t have to be okay, Jada. But don’t let this break you either.”

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