Chapter 15
Jada
The weight of Hunter’s arm pinned me in place, his warmth seeping into my side, his breath a slow, steady rhythm against my neck. It was still dark outside. We’d only been asleep for a couple hours, falling into a heap together after our lovemaking.
My body ached in ways that made me shift carefully beneath him. I was sore in all the right places.
Heat curled low in my belly at the memory. The way he’d touched me. The way I’d responded. It had been good. So good .
But then again, how would I know if it was better than anything else?
I swallowed against the thought, against the unease that came creeping in when I least expected it. What if this wasn’t what I used to want? What if I used to crave something different? What if—God, what if —this wasn’t me at all?
Hunter shifted, tightening his hold like his subconscious knew I was trying to slip away. I hesitated, watching him for a beat, taking in the sharp angles of his face, softened now in sleep. He was always so alert, so on edge, but now? He looked almost peaceful.
I didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to steal this rare moment from him, so I moved carefully, easing out from under his grip, the chill in the air stealing away his warmth the second I was free.
I grabbed a T-shirt and headed to the kitchen. I poured a glass of water, taking slow sips as I let my mind replay the past few hours.
Hunter Everett. This man had made my body sing in ways I hadn’t known were possible. But that was just it—I hadn’t known . Maybe I used to be different. Maybe I used to like men who?—
Alan Ard.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing my free hand against the counter. What the hell had I seen in him?
I had no memories, but I knew what kind of man he was. Manipulative. Dangerous. Cruel. And I’d been with him. Chosen him. Listened to his lies. I set the glass down, swallowing past the bitterness creeping into my throat.
A tiny mewl broke the silence, and I turned, spotting the kittens curled in their makeshift bed in the corner. One of them stretched, batting at the tail of another, their little bodies squirming and tangling together, perfectly content in their small world.
I dropped to my knees beside them, running my fingers over their tiny, warm bodies, feeling their soft fur beneath my touch. They didn’t question who they were. They just existed . Maybe I should take a lesson from them.
But then again, they hadn’t been stupid enough to get involved with someone like Alan Ard. The thought that I would’ve let him touch my body, do things… It made me sick. Maybe not being able to remember was a blessing.
Either way, I didn’t want to let that ruin what I had had with Hunter tonight. Alan was in my past. Whether I remembered him or not, he needed to stay there.
A low, guttural noise broke the quiet. I stiffened, my fingers still tangled in the kittens’ soft fur.
Another sound followed, deeper this time. Pained.
Hunter .
I scrambled to my feet, my pulse already picking up speed as I dashed toward the bedroom. It was dim, the sheets tangled around Hunter’s legs as he thrashed, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His muscles were tense, his hands clenched into fists against the mattress.
I hesitated. What should I do? Wake him? Let it pass?
He gave another sharp inhale, his body jerking like he was dodging something—something I couldn’t see but that he could , somewhere deep in whatever nightmare had him in its grip.
I took a step closer, my chest tight.
“Hunter.” My voice was soft, careful.
No response.
I swallowed, my stomach twisting. “Hunter,” I tried again, louder this time.
Nothing.
I reached out, hesitating only a second before pressing my hand to his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”
His body went rigid. Then, in a blur of motion too fast to react to, he was on me.
I barely had time to gasp before I hit the floor, his heavy body pinning me down, one arm braced hard across my chest, his grip viselike around my wrist. I couldn’t move.
His breath was harsh, uneven. His eyes—God, his eyes —they weren’t seeing me.
They weren’t here .
“Where’s the team?” His voice was low, a growl of pure instinct. “How do we get out?”
I sucked in a shaky breath, every nerve in my body screaming at me to panic. But I refused to give in to it.
Fear would only make it worse.
He was still trapped there, wherever his mind had taken him. A war zone. A mission gone wrong. A place where people had died. A place where he thought he might die, too.
I forced my voice to stay calm, even. “Hunter.”
His grip on my wrist tightened. I bit back a wince. “It’s Jada. You’re in Montana. At Resting Warrior Ranch.”
His breathing hitched, and the tension in his body didn’t ease.
“We’re not in combat.” My pulse thundered against my ribs, but I kept my voice steady. “We’re safe. The kittens are here.”
His breath shifted again. Slowed. A flash of something—hesitation, doubt—crossed his face. A crack in the armor.
I pressed on. “I’m here.”
His fingers twitched around my wrist. His eyes darted over my face, searching. His grip loosened.
Slowly—so slowly it nearly killed me—I lifted my free hand, pressing my palm against his bare chest. His heart was racing, erratic beneath my touch.
“Come back to me,” I whispered.
For a long, stretched-out beat, he didn’t move. Then he blinked. Once. Twice.
The tremble in his body was almost imperceptible, but I felt it. Like a slow-motion collapse, he let go.
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 you didn’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— this pain—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.
“Bullshit.”
His chest jerked with a humorless laugh. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
I knew enough. I knew the man who had saved me. The man who had kept me safe. The man who was more than the sum of his worst moments. I didn’t say any of that. Not yet. I just waited; I didn’t push.
And finally, he spoke.
“It was supposed to be a routine patrol.” His voice was detached, like he was a bored docent at a small-town museum. “Small village outside of Kunduz. We’d passed through a dozen times before, always the same. Locals barely looked at us. Just kept their heads down, minded their own.” He exhaled, long and slow. Pushed off the wall so he was standing up, shoulders tense, arms hanging at his sides. “Then we met the kid.”
My throat went tight.
“He was maybe thirteen. Small, scrawny. We gave him an MRE. Some bottled water. He barely looked at us as he took it, but we figured he was just scared. Figured his parents had warned him to stay away from the Americans.”
Hunter’s fingers twitched, hands formed into fists.
“He was scared,” he said, voice quieter now. “But not of us.”
A beat of silence. Then, finally, he turned his head slightly, just enough for his gaze to find mine.
“The next day, he led us straight into an ambush.”
I felt the words like a punch to the gut. Hunter didn’t look away. He just stood there, water streaming over his face, his expression unreadable.
“They were waiting for us,” he said. “Hidden in the ridgeline, in the trees. We never saw them coming.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “My entire team was wiped out in minutes.”
I sucked in a breath, my chest tight, a sharp ache spreading through my ribs.
“Seven men.” His voice didn’t waver, but I felt the weight of those two words. “My brothers. My responsibility.” He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “I should’ve died with them.”
I stepped closer. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. The water kept pouring, hot and steady, but the chill in his voice made my skin prickle.
“I don’t know why I didn’t,” he admitted. “They called it a miracle I made it out.”
My heart splintered. I reached up, brushing my fingers along his forearm. “I can’t answer why. All I know is that I’m glad you did. That if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. So if you can’t be relieved you survived for you, be relieved for me.”
For the longest time, he didn’t move, and then, finally, he turned to face me. His tormented eyes locked on mine, and slowly, his forehead dropped against mine. We stood like that until the water started losing its heat, and I stretched my hand around him and turned it off. I reached for a towel and dried him, both relieved and humbled that he let me.
The scars on his body—two, at least, definitely bullet wounds—meant something much different to me now.
I grabbed the other towel to dry myself, but to my surprise, he took it from me and began drying me as thoroughly as I had him. When he knelt down in front of me and picked up my foot so he could dry it, I ran my fingers through his thick hair.
Neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say that would make any of this better. So I didn’t try.
We walked back into the bedroom, putting on clothes to sleep in. I heard the kittens stirring in the other room and went to check on them. I knelt beside them, their tiny bodies stretching and twisting around, their paws reaching for me. I ran my fingers over their soft fur, feeling the vibration of their tiny purrs beneath my palm.
Hunter stood in the doorway, watching me, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. I didn’t ask what he was thinking. Didn’t push. I knew he would tell me if he wanted to talk about it.
Instead, I stood and crossed the room, reaching for his hand. “Come on.”
For a second, I wasn’t sure if he’d follow. Then, with a heavy breath, he did. I slipped beneath the sheets, feeling the coolness against my skin, and after a moment, Hunter did the same. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight, his muscles still coiled like he was waiting for something to snap.
I turned onto my side, watching him.
Minutes stretched, heavy and thick. Then, finally, he exhaled and rolled toward me, sliding his arm around my waist. I went willingly, pressing my face into the solid warmth of his chest.
Sleep didn’t come easy, but at least we weren’t alone.