Chapter 5 #2
Teague tried to shift his weight. His right foot slipped, sending a shower of rocks cascading down. He heard Eden’s sharp intake of breath. Felt the rope go taut as she prepared to catch a fall.
“The rock’s loose.” His voice came out strained. “The whole section’s compromised. I can’t—”
He couldn’t finish.
Couldn’t admit out loud that he was trapped. That his rush to win had put him exactly where Eden had warned him he’d end up.
“Teague.” Eden’s voice was calm. Professional. “Tell me exactly what you’re feeling under your hands and feet. Don’t move. Just describe it.”
His jaw clenched. Accepting help meant admitting he’d screwed up. Meant proving Eden right in front of everyone.
But his muscles were shaking now. The hold under his right foot shifted again—a millimeter, maybe less—but enough to send fresh adrenaline spiking through his system.
He was out of options.
“Left hand is solid. Right hand is barely more than a fingerhold.” His voice was tight. Strained. “Left foot has a small perch but is stable for now, but there’s pressure building. Right foot is the biggest problem—feels like the rock is delaminating.”
“Your last anchor?”
He glanced down. Too far. She’d been right about that too. “It’ll catch me, but not before I hit the wall. Hard.”
A pause. Then, “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Eden’s voice was not just calm, but commanding. The voice of someone who’d been in situations like this before. Who knew how to think when everything was falling apart. “Can you get a push on your right foot?”
“Maybe.”
“There’s a hold about eight inches above your left hand. Solid sandstone—I can see the color difference from here. If you can get a good push, then you can reach it and then redistribute your weight and traverse right to the stable section.”
“I can’t see it.”
“I can. Trust me.”
Four words. Simple. Loaded with everything that had passed between them—every argument, every moment of tension, every time he’d pushed her away.
Did he trust her?
He didn’t have a choice. He drew a deep breath and pushed. But the rock crumbled and his left foot nearly lost its perch. His arms began to shake as he used every ounce of strength to stay on the wall.
“Eden—” His voice cracked on her name. Pride and fear and the crushing weight of inadequacy pressed against his chest.
He forced the words past all of it. “I need you.”
I need you.
Three words. Crackling through the radio. Raw and vulnerable in a way Eden had never heard from Teague before.
Well. That’s one way to make a girl’s heart stop.
Her chest tightened—not with satisfaction at being right about the route, but with the sharp, cold clarity that came from transforming into rescue mode.
“On my way.” She forced her voice steady. Professional. “Marcus, Xander—anchor. Now.”
This was what she’d trained for. What she’d done dozens of times before Landon died. Assessment, planning, execution—a sequence that had once been as natural as breathing.
She dipped her hands into her chalk bag, the cool powder coating her palms. The sensation steadied her pulse. Grounded her.
Two years since she’d done this. Two years since she’d called the shots on a rescue.
Teague’s arms shook as fatigue started to set in, his weight distributed poorly across crumbling holds.
The left route—exactly what she’d warned him about.
The sandstone there was fractured, the holds deceptive, the kind of rock that looked solid until it crumbled beneath your fingers and sent you into nothing.
But that conversation could wait.
“Eden, need help over there?”
Kyle’s voice carried across the gap between routes, and when she glanced over, something in his expression made her stomach tighten.
He looked almost…satisfied.
What the—
The observation sent an uncomfortable prickle down her spine.
“We’re good. Focus on your climb.” The words came out sharp. Kyle’s eyebrows rose, but he backed off.
Eden tested her gear one final time—checked the figure-eight knot at her harness, the locking carabiner on her belay loop, the rope feeding cleanly through her ATC. Then she started up the right side.
The stable route. The one she’d suggested from the beginning.
The one Mr. I-Know-This-Canyon ignored.
The rock was solid under her hands. Warm from the desert sun. Good crimps, solid jugs—the kind of features that inspired confidence.
Instinct took over. Finding holds. Testing weight. Committing to moves with the muscle memory of thousands of climbs.
Then—
She froze.
Her gaze darted to Teague, clinging to the wall thirty feet up. What if she couldn’t reach him in time? What if he fell? What if his equipment failed?
Landon’s face slammed through her mind. The way he’d smiled at her before he left for that final climb. His overconfidence that had led to his—
Stop.
She forced herself to breathe. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. The way her old coach had taught her.
Focus on the next hold. The next move.
Slowly, her breathing steadied. The fear didn’t disappear—it hovered at the edges like a shadow—but it wasn’t paralyzing her anymore.
She was climbing.
Really climbing.
Not simply going through the motions but solving a problem. Using her skills for someone who needed her. Reading the rock, calculating the sequence, trusting her body to execute what her mind had planned.
Something warm spread through her chest. Not quite confidence yet.
But maybe the beginning of it.
The sun hammered the back of her helmet, sweat trickling down her temples. The rope whispered through her belay device—a soft hiss of nylon on metal that had once been the soundtrack of her life.
She cleared the crux, pulled over a small overhang, and found a solid stance on a ledge wide enough for an anchor.
“Okay.” She keyed her radio. “I’m about six feet above you and slightly to your right.”
Teague looked terrible.
His face had gone pale beneath his tan, forearms trembling with the effort of holding position. His green eyes were tight with strain—and something else. Embarrassment, maybe. The particular humiliation of a rescue professional needing rescue.
Welcome to the club, Hamilton.
The desert sun beat down on them both, heat radiating off sandstone in shimmering waves. Below, the canyon dropped away in broken rock and rough edges.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Eden clipped a locking biner to her anchor, threaded rope through it.
“I’ve built a bomber anchor. I’m sending a rope across on a carabiner.
When it reaches you, clip it to your harness belay loop—not the gear loops, the belay loop.
That’ll give you a second line for a pendulum traverse to my route. ”
She met his eyes across six feet of empty air.
“Small movements. Test every hold before you commit weight. If anything gives, you’ll swing but you won’t fall far. I’ve got you.”
“Eden, I’m sorry.” His voice was rough. Strained. “I should have listened—”
“Save it.” Firm, but not unkind. “Right now I need you focused on moving. We can debrief later.”
And by debrief, I mean tell you I told you so.
She watched his face—the moment he swallowed his pride and nodded, accepting her authority. Something in her chest loosened.
This was what teammates did. Took turns leading. Took turns rescuing. Trusted each other to step up.
She swung the carabiner across. He clipped it to his harness with fingers that only shook a little.
“Good. Now—first move. Reach with your left hand. There’s a jug about ten inches away.” She pointed. “See it? The one with the orange lichen?”
Teague’s eyes tracked across the rock face. “Yeah.”
“When you’re ready, shift your weight onto your right foot and reach. Don’t rush.”
He moved carefully. His fingers found the hold, wrapped around the lip, and the relief that crossed his face was almost painful.
“That’s it. Perfect. Now bring your left foot across to that small ledge—about six inches lower than your current stance.”
They moved slowly. Methodically. Eden called out each hold, staying parallel to his position as he traversed toward solid rock. Her mind worked three moves ahead—calculating angles, anticipating problems, finding the path of least resistance.
This was what she’d loved about climbing.
The problem-solving. The way rock presented puzzles requiring both physical skill and mental calculation. The satisfaction of finding the right sequence.
She’d forgotten how good it felt to trust her own judgment.
“Watch your right foot—that hold’s smaller than it looks at first. Weight it on the inside edge.”
Teague adjusted his placement, testing carefully before committing. “How’d you know?”
“The shape. See how it’s angled? Smaller holds with uneven edges tend to be more stable on one side. Test it and you’ll feel what I mean.”
“You’re kind of scary good at this.”
“Kind of?” She allowed herself a small smile. “I’m extremely scary good at this.”
He laughed—a short, surprised sound that echoed off the canyon walls. “There she is.”
Something warm bloomed in her chest at those words.
There she is.
Like he’d been waiting for her to show up. Like he’d known she was in there somewhere.
Five minutes later, Teague stood beside her on the narrow ledge.
Eden clipped him into her anchor with a satisfying snap of the locking carabiner. Her hands vibrated—not from exertion, but from adrenaline finally bleeding away. The warmth of sunbaked stone beneath her fingers grounded her.
She’d done it.
She straightened to her full height, and he was right there. Close enough that she could see exhaustion and embarrassment etched into his features. Close enough to feel heat radiating off his skin. Close enough to count the flecks of gold in his green eyes.
“You good?” Her words came out just above a whisper.
“No.” He didn’t soften it. Didn’t make excuses. “I screwed up.”
“Yeah.” She met his gaze. “You did.”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You know what.” A hint of that familiar humor flickered in his eyes despite the situation.
Eden pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Eden.”