Page 17 of Nothing But Air

“Sometimes doing nothing is harder than doing something,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” Some tension seemed to leave his shoulders. “It really is.”

He held her gaze, and something shifted in the room. The teasing edge softened into something more dangerous.

“Eden.” His voice was gentle. “Why are you hiding this? The training. The skills.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Then explain how you talked me through fixing my Petzl ascender over the radio. Or your knowledge of sandstone anchors.”

“Lucky guesses.”

“Both of them?”

“I’m very lucky.”

“You’re very bad at lying.” He stepped closer and reached for her hand—slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. His thumb traced the ridges of her calluses. “These aren’t maintenance. These are working climber’s hands.”

The touch was gentle. Almost reverent. And entirely too distracting.

“Maybe I really like pull-ups.”

“Maybe you’re still a climber who’s pretending she isn’t.”

She pulled her hand back. “Why does that make any difference to you?”

“Because I spent the last several hours wondering if everyone is right about me. If I’m too reckless. Too impulsive. Too willing to jump without thinking.” He shook his head. “Then I come here and find out you’re training in secret, maintaining skills you claim you don’t want anymore. And I think maybe we’re not that different.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“No?”

“You run toward danger. I run away from it.”

“And yet here you are. Keeping your hands ready for something you say you’ll never do again.” His voice dropped. “Why?”

The question cracked something open. Eden’s voice rose before she could stop it. “Because I don’t know how to let go.”

“Exactly.” The silence hung between them.

“It’s not the same.” She paced away, then turned back. “I have to let go.”

“Why?” He took another step closer. “Help me understand.”

“That life nearly killed me and did kill the man I loved.” He opened his mouth to speak, but now that she was on a roll, she had to get it all out. “Every time I climb—even a doorframe, even in my own bathroom—I remember that it cost me my financé—my future. And every time I have to watch you take an unnecessary risk, I remember that it could cost you everything.”

She was breathing hard now. The words kept coming. “I’m done. I’m done taking risks and chasing adrenaline and pretending that feeling alive means putting myself in danger.”

She stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “And I’m done letting myself care about people who do.”

The silence stretched between them.

Teague’s expression shifted—surprise, understanding, something almost like hurt. She’d told him exactly why she’d kept her distance. Laid it out like a confession she’d never meant to make.

“Eden—”

“I think you should go.”