Epilogue
Jada
Six months later
The cardboard box didn’t make a sound as I sealed it shut, but somehow the moment felt louder than anything else in the room.
Hunter crossed the cabin’s living room, hauling the last stack of flattened boxes to the door, and our three cats weaved around his boots like they knew change was in the air. Moose jumped up on the windowsill, tail flicking like a metronome, watching the summer wind blow through the trees outside. Biscuits claimed the top of a half-filled box and was glaring at anyone who got too close. Sir Pounce decided to try getting his face stuck in the tape roll.
I sat back on my heels, exhaling as I rubbed my wrist, which still gave me twinges all these months after Kelly had broken it. “That’s the last of the kitchen. You think we’ll ever find half this stuff again?”
Hunter looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Not if you keep putting things in boxes labeled ‘Miscellaneous.’”
“Hey. Watch it. Some things defy categorization,” I said, grabbing another roll of bubble wrap.
He walked over, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head like it was a habit. Like we’d been doing this for years.
Seven months.
Seven months since the worst and best night of my life. Since he’d saved me, then stuck around long enough for me to save myself. Or at least make more attempts to become the person I wanted to be.
“You sure you don’t want to call it for the day?” he asked. “I can finish tomorrow morning.”
“And let you pack the rest without my micromanaging?” I looked up at him. “Not a chance.”
That earned me the low chuckle I loved. The one he didn’t give to many people.
I stood and stretched, brushing packing tape off my leggings. Across the room, Sir Pounce was now on Hunter’s duffel bag, chewing the zipper pull with alarming determination.
“I almost took them back,” I said, softer now, stepping up beside him. “I’d decided it was selfish to keep them when everything felt so temporary.”
“Good thing I’m here to remind you things are not temporary,” he said. “And that I am a sucker for Thing 1, Thing 2, and Thing 3.”
“As evidenced by the huge jungle gym you built for them.”
He just grinned as Sir Pounce butted his chin.
I leaned into his side and felt the exhale more than I heard it. “Tomorrow,” I murmured, “we start living in a new house.”
“Our house,” he said.
The house across town that Kenzie had helped us find and buy as our real estate agent. She’d even given us the friends and family discount. If that wasn’t evidence of true forgiveness, I didn’t know what was.
“Our home,” I whispered.
Home .
It was such a strange word. Too sharp in my mouth, too loaded in my chest. Hunter and I said it more now, like we were trying to teach ourselves the shape of it. Like if we used it enough, we’d stop waiting for the ground to fall out from under us.
Over the past six months, I’d done everything I could to piece together the fragments of my childhood. Caleb had been pretty much my only source of information. My only tie to the past. I’d gone to visit him once a month since Kelly and Johnson had been arrested, and I talked to him on the phone usually at least once a week.
He’d been very patient with all my questions, painting a picture of our childhood, even though that picture wasn’t all that pretty. He told me about our mom. Her temper. The way she’d made me feel small for breathing too loud. He didn’t sugarcoat it, and I didn’t want him to.
He said I was probably better off not being able to remember a lot of it, and I had to agree. I think Caleb and I understood each other better now than we ever did when I had my memories. I wouldn’t be turning my back on my brother again. He was the only family I had left.
But that wasn’t really true, was it? I had found I had family all around me here. Both Hunter and I were realizing that home has less to do with a building or a place and more to do with who you surround yourself with. The people of Resting Warrior and Pawsitive Connections and, honestly, nearly the whole town of Garnet Bend were family.
Because family wasn’t about blood—it was about the ones who stood by you when everything fell apart. They were the ones who wanted what was best for you, even when it might not be what was best for them.
I grabbed a couple of my textbooks from the counter and placed them in a backpack, not wanting to take a chance on their getting misplaced in a sea of boxes since I had homework I still needed to do.
“You know you can cut out your shifts at Pawsitive if you need to focus on school.”
“I know. Lark said the same thing.”
Speaking of family, Lark had actually been the one to encourage me to sign up for classes in the first place, despite the fact that it meant it would leave her shorthanded at Pawsitive.
“You know you’re welcome here as long as you want.” She’d leaned on the fence that day a few months ago. “But…you ever think about doing something else?”
I blinked at her, mid-swipe. “Besides shoveling alpaca poop and explaining to goats why they shouldn’t eat my clothes?”
A grin tugged at her mouth. “Yeah. Like… I don’t know. Taking a class. Figuring out what lights you up.”
I paused, brush dangling from my hand. “I like it here.”
“I know,” she said, her voice softening. “And you’re good at it. I’m not kicking you out.” Lark nudged my shoulder. “But you’ve got this rare opportunity, Jada. A clean slate. No baggage. No box someone else shoved you into. You could study literally anything. Vet work, accounting, hell— pottery .”
“I don’t know what I’m good at.”
“That’s the fun part. You get to find out. And I think you should.” She looked at me. “Even if that means losing my best damn employee.”
The next day, she’d emailed me a link to the local community college schedule. Next thing I knew, I was signed up for Introduction to Glass Arts, Advertising 101, and College Algebra.
That latter was for the birds, I could tell you that for sure. I would definitely not be a math teacher.
My classes had definitely taken a lot more time than I’d expected, but that was fine since Hunter had been home so little over the past few months.
When Lucas had offered him the lead on Warrior Security, Hunter hadn’t been sure he’d take it, and I hadn’t pushed. Too many people. Too much responsibility. Too many chances to fail at something that mattered. But the minute he started building his team—calling old friends from the Army, guys he trusted, guys who’d lost just as much—something in Hunter clicked back into place.
It had been a sight to behold.
He still had tough days, but they weren’t the kind that left him shaking in the dark or locking himself in a gym until his hands bled. He was sleeping more. Smiling more. He even teased Jensen last week for singing to his carburetor like it was a damn lullaby.
Everyone noticed.
And yeah, I missed Hunter. I missed the way things had been at the cabin before his calendar filled with strategy meetings and training drills. Some days, I wanted to drag him back and keep him to myself. But then I’d see him with his team—shoulders loose, eyes sharp, steady—and I knew.
This job gave him something he hadn’t even known he needed. Something to belong to. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There was only one more thing I needed to do before we left this cabin and moved forward with our life. Get rid of something I didn’t want to take with me—physically or metaphorically.
I walked over to the kitchen sink and grabbed the antidote vial that had been sitting at the corner of the counter, untouched, for months now.
It felt heavier than it should—like it carried more than just liquid. Maybe it did. It sat in my palm, tiny and glassy, the liquid catching the light as I turned it slowly between my fingers. Sir Pounce hopped up onto the counter beside me, tail curling around his paws, eyes flicking from me to the vial like he knew this was a moment.
Hunter walked in from the other room. He paused when he saw me. “You thinking about where to pack it?”
I didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped my fingers around the vial, the glass warming against my skin.
He crossed the room in three slow steps. “Jada…”
“I’m not taking it with us. I’m going to pour it down the drain.”
His brow furrowed, just enough for me to see the worry behind his calm. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I looked up at him, steady. “It’s time.”
He rested his hands on the counter on either side of me. “You might want it one day. You might want to remember.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need to remember who I used to be. I don’t want to. That person…” I swallowed. “She made a lot of mistakes. She hurt people. And even if this—” I lifted the vial slightly “—could give me back all those memories, I’d still lose everything I’ve built now.”
His voice dropped low. “You wouldn’t lose me.”
“I know.” I smiled softly. “But what if it changed me? What if I remembered things I couldn’t live with? What if it made me question everything that’s finally starting to make sense?”
Hunter didn’t try to argue again. He knew me too well by now.
“And I don’t even care if Alan gave me the half million dollars, which, for the record, I’ve never once thought he did. But even if by chance he had, it still wouldn’t be worth it to me to take this,” I said. “There is nothing in that past worth risking this life. You. Our cats. Our friends. That ridiculous goat at Pawsitive who still tries to eat my scarf.”
He huffed a breath of a laugh, then reached for my hand. “Then let’s get rid of it.”
I unscrewed the cap. We stood shoulder to shoulder as I tipped it over the sink.
The liquid disappeared in a quiet stream down the drain.
And just like that, the past lost its last grip on me.
Hunter brushed a kiss against my temple. “Come on. Let’s load the final box. I got you something when I was out recruiting for Warrior Security last week. A sort of housewarming gift.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I didn’t get you anything.”
He kissed me. “I get your love and you waking up beside me every day. I think I come out ahead.”
I snorted, took the package, and peeled the paper back slowly. Inside was a framed print—sunrise over the Rockies, mist curling along jagged peaks. Soft. Strong. Wild.
Across the bottom, in delicate lettering, was the quote:
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start from where you are and change the ending.”
My throat tightened.
“I found it in some dusty shop outside of Boise,” he said, watching me. “Felt like us.”
I traced a finger along the frame, eyes lingering on the words. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It does.”
Because we’d both lost things. Pieces of ourselves. People we couldn’t get back. But we’d found each other somewhere in the wreckage.
And that made everything worth it.
I looked up at him. “Let’s go change the ending.”
He smiled, stepped in close, and kissed me like it was a promise. Then he grabbed a box, and I followed him out into the light.
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Thank you for reading MONTANA MEMORY. The Resting Warrior Ranch and new Warrior Security team continues in MONTANA JUSTICE !