Page 33 of Nothing But Air

When her feet hit the ground, she ripped the rope from her harness.

“This was a mistake.” She fumbled with the knot. “I can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Teague set a hand on her shoulder. Just enough pressure to ground her. “Deep breath. Sit.”

He guided her to a flat boulder away from the rock face. The canyon stretched before them, ancient and patient, morning light painting the far rim gold.

They sat in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were Eden’s gradually slowing breaths and the distant cry of a hawk.

“It was Landon’s self-belay that failed.” Her voice came muffled, her head in her hands.

Teague waited. He knew what this was like—the way old wounds surfaced when you least expected them. The way they demanded to be spoken.

“It was a crazy climb. Overhanging granite, almost no protection, loose rock everywhere.” Her fingers dug into her hair. “The guidebook rated it for experts only in perfect conditions. But a storm was rolling in. I told him not to do it.”

She drew a shaky breath.

“He wouldn’t listen. When I backed out, he talked Kyle into going instead.”

She lifted her face. Her eyes fixed on something beyond the canyon walls—a memory only she could see.

“We fought. About him taking risks. About how he always needed one more challenge, one more victory.” Her voice twisted. “I told him sometimes enough was enough.”

The words hung there. A little too reminiscent of what she’d said to Teague after his last rescue.

No wonder she didn’t want to fall for him. He embodied everything she was trying to escape.

“But he left anyway.” Her voice dropped. “According to Kyle, everything was fine…until it wasn’t. The cam on his self-belay was worn and just gave. And he fell.” A whisper. “Three hundred feet.”

Teague’s chest ached. His own memories rose unbidden—Chip’s surprised expression, the way he’d reached out, the split second when Teague’s fingers had brushed his brother’s palm without closing around it.

“My brother, Chip, died.” The words scraped out before he could stop them. “He was a climber, but he wasn’t climbing at the time. We were hiking Half Dome.” His voice went ragged. “And he fell.”

Eden’s head turned. Surprise crossed her features—softening the hard edges.

“How do you keep climbing?” she asked quietly. “After that?”

“One move at a time, because the alternative is worse.”

He met her gaze. Those blue eyes searched his face—looking for truth. Or maybe proof that what he’d said was real.

“I tried to stop. But the guilt doesn’t disappear simply because you stop doing what you love.” He exhaled slowly. “So I use it to push me forward. To make every climb count. To save every person I can…because I couldn’t save him.”

The admission hung between them—raw and unguarded.

“The rock didn’t fail Landon,” Teague said. “A man-made device did. I’ve checked these devices hundreds of times. You can trust them. And the rock won’t fail you if you’re anchored to it.” He paused. “But you’re anchoring yourself to the loss, Eden. And that will never hold.”

Her breath caught.

“Let Landon’s memory push you forward. Not hold you back.”

Eden stared at him. A long moment passed—something shifting in her expression.

“What if I freeze again?” Her voice was small. “What if we’re hundreds of feet up and I panic?”

“Then the rock will hold.” He shifted closer, his shoulder nudging hers. “And I’ll be there. Right beside you.” He held her gaze. “You’re not alone in this. We’re a team, remember?”

This close, he could see the freckles across her nose. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes from years of squinting into the sun.