Chapter 4 #2
“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.
Keep your head, Hamilton.
Eden stayed eyes locked with his for another heartbeat. Then she stood and approached the rock. “Let’s go again.”
Teague pushed to his feet. “You sure?”
“No.” She turned back to him. “But you just gave me a whole speech about not letting fear hold me back. Would be pretty rude to ignore it.”
“I mean, I did put a lot of effort into that speech.”
“It was okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Solid B-plus.” She tied into the rope, and this time her hands were steady. “Maybe B-plus-plus.”
“That’s not a real grade.”
“It is now. I just invented it.”
Teague took up the belay, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You know, most people would simply say thank you.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah.” He watched her approach the rock face, chalk dusting her palms, the morning sun catching gold in her braid. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
This time, she climbed smoothly, without even a hint of hesitation. Her body moved up the rock with instinct he’d never seen in a climber. When she reached the spot where she’d frozen before, she paused…
But only for a second.
Then her hand reached up. Found the hold. And she pulled herself higher. Twenty feet up, she looked down at him.
And smiled.
The expression hit him square in the chest.
“Don’t get cocky, Garrison,” he called up. “You’ve still got two more pitches.”
“Worried I’ll show you up?”
“Worried you’ll get a big head and forget to clip in.”
She laughed—a real laugh, bright and unexpected—and kept climbing.
Teague watched her go, the rope sliding steadily through his hands.
Watching Eden Garrison climb—watching her push through fear and grief and two years of running—made him realize something he’d been trying to deny since the moment he’d met her in the ranger station with her sharp tongue and haunted eyes.
He cared about her. Not as a teammate. Not as a professional concern.
In a way that had nothing to do with being careful.
Passing crush, he’d told himself.
What a joke.
He’d already fallen.
And that was a problem he had absolutely no idea how to solve.
Don’t look at his arms. Don’t look at his arms. Don’t—
Too late.
Eden stood at the anchor point, forty-five feet above where they’d started the climb, watching Teague climb toward her with the kind of fluid grace that made her mouth go dry.
The muscles in his shoulders bunched and released beneath his technical climbing shirt.
His forearms flexed as he crimped a tiny edge.
And she was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not staring.
You’re in trouble, Garrison.
Real trouble.
Because she’d done it. Actually climbed past the fear that had paralyzed her for two years. Pushed through the panic clenching her lungs on the first pitch, the voice screaming You can’t do this. You’re going to fall. You’re going to die just like—
But she hadn’t fallen. Hadn’t died.
Her fingers were raw, chalk caked in the creases of her knuckles, forearms burning with that familiar ache she’d almost forgotten. The ache of effort. Of living.
And now she had a new problem.
Teague Hamilton, moving up the sandstone face like he’d been born on vertical rock, his reddish-brown curls peeked from under his helmet, catching copper in the morning light.
My brother, Chip, died…We were hiking…And he fell.
She’d assumed his rescues, his constant pushing into danger, came from adrenaline. From chasing the high of risk—the same reckless hunger that had driven Landon higher and higher until the mountain took him.
But it wasn’t that at all.
The vulnerability in his voice when he’d talked about Chip echoed in her memory. The way he’d looked at her when he said she wasn’t alone—like he meant it down to his bones.
The way he’d convinced her to climb again when she’d been seconds from walking off this ledge forever.
She’d made it to the anchor. But now the real test waited just below her ribs—could she keep herself from falling? Not off the rock. But back into hope?
Teague reached the anchor, clipping his locking carabiner into the bolted chains with a satisfying snap. He pulled himself onto the narrow ledge, his shoulder brushing hers as he found footing on sun-warmed sandstone.
Then he rose to his full height—close, too close on this tiny platform—and a smile stretched across his face.
“You are a fierce climber.”
“Thanks.” Eden nodded, then bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.
“I’m serious. The way you underclung that overhang and used the heel hook to reach that crimper…” He shook his head, curls falling across his forehead. “Brilliant. I’ve made this climb more times than I can count and never thought to do that.”
He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling just inches from hers. A bead of sweat traced down his temple, disappearing into his trimmed beard. “Did you see that I copied it on my way up?”
“No.”
His smile dimmed.
He probably thought she hadn’t noticed because she didn’t care enough to watch. Better for him to think that than the truth—that she’d been so distracted watching the way his body moved, she hadn’t paid attention to his technique at all.
Get it together, Garrison.
“Well, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “It was brilliant.”
He turned to face outward, and Eden followed his gaze.
The canyon dropped away in layers of ancient stone—brown, tan, and shades of gray, carved by time into impossible shapes. The mid-morning sun painted the rock in shades of fire. A vulture circled below them, riding thermals, and somewhere a raven called—its rough cry echoing off stone walls.
The air smelled of sunbaked sandstone and juniper. Clean. Sharp. Alive.
For a moment, neither spoke. They simply stood on this tiny ledge suspended above the world.
His proximity made the space suddenly smaller. Intimate. He was close enough that warmth radiated from his body after the climb. Close enough that if she shifted her weight, her arm would brush his.
The wind picked up, catching strands that had escaped Eden’s braid. They whipped across her face, and she reached up—
But Teague’s hand was already there.
His fingers brushed her cheek as he caught the wayward strands, tucking them gently behind her ear. The touch was feather-light. Careful.
And it sent a jolt straight through her chest.
His focus had shifted from the canyon to her face. Something unreadable flickered in his expression.
The wind pushed him closer. Close enough that she caught the faint scent of cedar and chalk and sweat and something uniquely him.
“Eden—”
Her name on his lips made her pulse jump. His eyes traced over her face—her eyes, her cheeks, lingering on her mouth for one heart-stopping moment—before snapping back to meet her gaze.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping.
Like he was fighting something.
This close, she could see flecks of gold in his green eyes. The dimple half hidden beneath scruff. The faint crescent scar by his right eye.
She should step back. Should put distance between them before this became something neither could take back.
But she didn’t.
His hand lifted. Hesitated. Then fell back to his side. As if he didn’t trust himself to touch her again.
“Do you feel ready for tomorrow’s climb?” His voice came out rough. Unsteady.
She nodded but didn’t move.