Chapter 4
Four
The problem with falling was that you never saw it coming.
Teague had learned that early as a climber. Watched it happen more than once—solid ground, then nothing. No warning. No second chances.
And now, standing outside Eden’s cabin in the early morning with his climbing gear slung over his shoulder, he was learning it again. Only this type of falling didn’t come with anchors and a belay.
Passing crush, he told himself. That’s all this is. No big deal.
The lie tasted familiar. He’d been saying it all summer.
And he had to face the fact that if it was really “no big deal,” he wouldn’t have put this climb off for two days.
He did his best to shake away the thoughts and knocked.
Eden’s cabin door yanked open. She stood in the threshold wearing leggings and a technical climbing shirt, her light-blonde hair pulled back in a tight braid. Every inch the experienced climber she’d claimed to be.
Those pale-blue eyes—sharp and guarded, ringed in a darker shade of blue that made them impossible to look away from. The lean, capable build of someone who understood what her body could do.
Seeing her nearly knocked the breath from his chest.
Passing crush, he reminded himself. Passing.
“This is unnecessary.” Her greeting landed sharp. Defensive. “I’ve been training. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to babysit me.”
Nothing like a metaphorical cold shower.
“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.” Teague let an easy grin spread across his face. “Sleep well? Pleasant dreams? Ready to embrace the day with open arms and a joyful heart?”
“Hamilton.”
“Garrison.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Joyful heart. Very important for climbing.” He leaned against the doorframe.
“Look.” She crossed her arms. “I appreciate whatever this is—”
“Concern. The word you’re looking for is concern.”
“—but I don’t need to prove myself to you.”
“Good. Because I’m not asking you to.” His smile faded. “The places Marcus and I have narrowed it to aren’t an easy day at the gym. I’m talking technical climbing. Multipitch. Exposed routes with no margin for error.” He held her gaze. “Pull-up-bar drills won’t cut it out there.”
“I know what technical climbing involves.”
“I know you know. I also know you haven’t done it in two years.”
Something flickered in her expression. Gone before he could name it.
Teague straightened. “Here’s the deal. Your friends arrive later today. We’re doing a practice climb first thing tomorrow.”
“I’m aware of the situation.”
He met her eyes. “I’m not asking you to prove anything. I’m asking you to climb with me not only so you feel more comfortable, but also so I know what to expect when we’re a couple hundred feet up with lives on the line. That’s not me doubting you. That’s smart.”
Eden stared at him for a long moment. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “And if I freeze?”
The question came out quieter than he expected. Vulnerable in a way that didn’t match the sharp edges she usually wore.
“Then we deal with it.” He kept his voice steady. “Better to find out now than when we’re deep in the canyon, away from help. And unless you want your first time back on the rock to be with about a dozen eyes on you, the time is now.”
She held his gaze. Something shifted behind her eyes—maybe fear wrestling with determination.
Then she grabbed her gear bag from inside the cabin and brushed past him. The floral scent of her shampoo and freshly applied sunscreen trailed in her wake.
Eden climbed into the passenger seat without a word.
They drove in silence, the dirt road not much more than a double path through the tall pines.
Teague kept his eyes on the road, acutely aware of Eden’s rigid posture. The way her hands gripped her knees. The quick rise and fall of her breathing.
She was nervous. Trying hard to hide it.
“So,” he said. “Want to hear how we narrowed the search area for that final cache?”
“Not particularly.”
“Great. So Marcus said his grandfather was really into math. He was a geometry teacher, actually.”
“I said not particularly.”
“I heard you. I’m choosing to interpret ‘not particularly’ as ‘Please, Teague, distract me from my death grip on my kneecaps.’”
Eden’s hand relaxed a little. “I don’t have a death grip.”
“Your knuckles are no longer white, so I’ll take it as a win. Anyway, since he was a geometry teacher, we think that his three chosen locations might form a…” He glanced at her and waited.
She offered a slight shrug. “Triangle?”
“Exactly.” He turned his truck off the main road down a dirt side road. Just two rows of dirt, grass growing between.
“The first chest that Nimue found was at the bottom of the canyon, not too far from the Colorado. The second in the Tapeats Cave. So if we plot the third location, it should make a triangle.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but any three points make a triangle.”
“True. But to be significant, it would need to be an isosceles triangle or an orthogonal triangle.”
“Orthogonal?”
“Right angle.”
“Are you going to pretend you didn’t look that up?”
“Maybe I’m a math nerd at heart.”
“I’m sure you are.” A smile tugged at her lips.
“The isosceles is easy to pinpoint, but the orthogonal is trickier. The two points we have could be one of the sides or the hypotenuse, so that leaves three options.”
“Now you’re just showing off.”
“Would I do that?”
“So that gives four basic locations?”
“Eight. Because it could form a triangle to the northeast or to the southwest. Which is why we have two teams.”
“That is actually pretty smart.”
“I’ll take it and pretend like you didn’t sound surprised as you said it.” He pulled the truck off the main road onto a gravel access path. “We’re here.”
The canyon stretched beyond the windows—rust and brown and deep-purple shadows where the morning sun hadn’t reached. Ancient stone that had been here long before any of them and would remain long after.
The route he’d chosen was one of his favorites—a three-pitch climb up a sandstone face with enough challenge to be interesting without being overwhelming. He’d soloed it dozens of times and knew every hold, every crack, every place where the rock crumbled slightly under pressure.
They geared up at the base. Eden’s movements were practiced, efficient—checking her harness, racking gear with muscle memory that hadn’t faded despite two years away from the rock.
But her hands shook slightly as she tied into the rope.
Teague finished his own knots and moved closer. “Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever’s making your hands shake.”
Eden’s jaw tightened. “My hands are fine.”
“They’re doing a very convincing impression of not fine.”
“Hamilton—”
“I’m just saying. Shaky hands, white knuckles, breathing like you just ran a marathon.” He kept his voice light. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“I believe you.”
“You’re patronizing me.”
“I would never.” He held up his hands. “I have the utmost respect for your totally-not-nervous state. Very Zen. Very calm. Definitely not hyperventilating.”
Eden stared at him. For a second, he thought she might actually hit him.
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.
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.