Page 32 of Nothing But Air

Then her mouth twitched. “I really hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I really, really do.”

“You tolerate me with moderate irritation. That’s different.” He picked up the rope. “I’ll belay. You lead the first pitch.”

Eden’s eyes widened. “You want me to lead?”

“You said you were one of the best.” His gaze locked with hers. “So show me.”

The challenge hung between them.

Eden stared at the rock face. Something shifted in her expression—fear wrestling with pride.

She chalked her hands. The white powder rose in a small cloud.

Then she started to climb.

Her first moves were solid. Confident. Hands finding holds, feet testing placements, body flowing with the rock. Teague belayed from below, feeding rope through his device, tracking her progress.

She was good.

Better than good.

Even rusty, she moved like someone who understood the stone—who could read the rock and anticipate where it would hold. Her weight shifted smoothly from foot to foot. Her reach was efficient. Economical. Even if there was a slight hesitation to each new grip.

But about fifteen feet up, Eden paused.

Her right hand hovered over a hold. Pulled back. Hovered again.

Her breath came harsh and ragged—loud enough to carry over the wind.

“Eden?”

No answer. Just frozen fear. One hand on the rock, one suspended in empty air.

“Eden, talk to me.”

“I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I can’t do this.”

Panic. He recognized the signs—the hyperventilation, the locked muscles, the fingers turning white.

And for a terrifying instant, he saw Chip.

Same look. Same helpless grip on nothing. The split second before gravity won?—

No.

He shoved the memory down. Hard.

“Eden.” He kept his voice steady. “I’ve got you. The rope is solid. I’m not letting go.”

“I need to come down.” Her voice cracked. “Now. I need to come down now.”

“Okay. Find your footing. I’ll lower you.”

It took three attempts before Eden managed to reverse her last move. Her descent was jerky, uncontrolled. Small rocks skittered past her.