Chapter 6
Six
Eden had climbed up to rescue him, and Teague was never going to live it down.
Not the professional embarrassment—though that stung. Not the talking-to Noah had given him afterward, arms crossed, disappointment carved into every line of his weary face. Not even the way he’d lost that stinking bet to Kyle.
It was the look in Eden’s eyes when she’d reached him.
The calm certainty. The competence as she’d talked him through the traverse, her voice steady while his whole body trembled. The way she’d made it look easy—reading the rock, finding the stable holds, guiding him down as if she’d been born to do exactly this.
I need you.
He’d actually said that. Out loud. On the radio. Where everyone could hear.
Teague sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows braced on his knees, running the morning’s disaster through his mind for the hundredth time.
The loose rock grinding beneath his foot.
His fingers scraping against stone that crumbled like stale bread.
The moment his weight had shifted and he’d known—known—he was stuck.
All the choices he should have made differently.
All the ways he’d proved Eden right about his jump-first, think-second approach to life.
The cabin was just one room with two bunks built into opposite walls, rough-hewn pine that still smelled faintly of sawdust. A small woodstove squatted in the corner, its cast-iron bulk making the space even more cramped.
A narrow window pointed toward the other staff cabins clustered among the ponderosa pines.
The lodge in the distance on the edge of the canyon.
His climbing gear lay in a heap by the door. Two hours of checking every carabiner, every rope, every piece of protection while his team worked in near silence around him.
They’d been kind about it.
Too kind.
Which somehow made it worse.
“Quit beating yourself up.” Liam emerged from the tiny bathroom, towel-drying his dark hair. Water droplets clung to his shoulders, catching the light. “It could happen to anyone.”
“And yet it happened to me.”
“That’s how probability works, Hamilton. Someone has to be the statistic.”
“Thanks. That’s very comforting.”
“I’m a comforting guy.” Liam tossed the towel onto his bunk and reached for a clean shirt. “Ask Nimue. She finds me extremely comforting.”
“I’m not asking Nimue anything about how she finds you.”
Liam grinned. “Fair enough.” He pulled the shirt over his head. “Point is, you’re a far better climber than I am, and we both know it. One bad route doesn’t change that.”
Teague stood and moved to the window. From here he could just see the dining hall—warm light spilling from its windows, people wandering that direction from all over the grounds.
“Now Eden,” Liam continued, “I think she might have us both beat.”
The words landed with unexpected weight.
Teague watched a condor circle in the distance over the canyon, riding the thermals. “She’s good all right.”
“Good? She made that rescue climb look like a Sunday stroll. How are her friends? Sierra and that other guy—Trey?”
“Capable. But they don’t read rock like she does.”
“It’s like she was born to climb. Which begs the question—why has she been sitting behind the radio all summer?” Liam opened and shut a drawer behind him.
Teague kept his eyes on the world outside. He had the answer to that. But it wasn’t his story to tell.
“So why did you do it?” Liam sat on his bunk and started lacing his boots. “Choose that path? Deep down, you had to know it would be less stable.”
Teague’s fingers curled against the windowsill. “I don’t know. I thought if I moved fast enough, then maybe…I do know that I wanted to beat Kyle.” The admission tasted bitter. “Impress Eden.” A pause. “Failed spectacularly at both.”
“Well, you definitely made an impression. Just not in the way you intended.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I really am.” Liam tied off one boot, started on the other. “Maybe you should move Eden to my team.”
Something cold twisted in Teague’s gut. “She’s a strong climber. We need her skills on the technical routes.”
“She is. And you do.” Liam’s hands paused on his bootlace. “But not if she’s a distraction. You know I’d look after her.”
Teague’s hands gripped the windowsill harder, wood grain biting into his palms. “No. She stays on my team.”
“My team’s covering southwest locations. Most of those are less technical, closer to base camp. Makes sense to—”
“I said no.” The sharpness in his own voice surprised him.
Silence stretched between them. Teague could feel Liam’s gaze on the back of his neck.
“Why?”
Teague turned. Met his friend’s eyes across the small cabin. “Would you let Nimue join another team? Where you couldn’t be there if something went wrong?”
Liam’s expression shifted. “That’s different. Nimue and I—”
“Are together. I know.” Teague grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. Needed something to do with his hands.
“Just because Eden doesn’t care for me like that doesn’t mean I don’t care for her.” The words scraped out rougher than he intended. “If Eden’s going to be out there, I need to be able to see her. Know where she is. Make sure…” He stopped.
The admission caught in his throat.
Liam stood slowly. The cabin was quiet except for the distant sounds of people leaving their cabins—boots on gravel, low voices, screen doors creaking. “Make sure she doesn’t fall.”
The unspoken words hung between them.
About Chip. About the split second Teague had been too slow. About Eden’s story that had gutted him—her fiancé’s equipment failing, the fall that had shattered her world just like Chip’s fall had shattered his.
“I can’t—” His voice cracked.
Teague turned back to the window and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged the pane. “I can’t be on a different team. I can’t be hours away if something goes wrong. I can’t not know where she is, whether she’s safe—”
“Whether you could reach her in time.” Liam’s voice was gentle. Firm. He moved to stand beside Teague at the window. “Like you couldn’t reach Chip.”
The name landed like a blow.
Teague’s shoulders hunched. The old wound tore open—always fresh, no matter how many years passed. “That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what this is about.”
Teague pressed his forehead harder against the glass.
Outside, lodgepole pines cast long shadows across the gravel paths.
“This morning, watching her climb up to rescue me—” His voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“I was terrified. Not of falling. Of watching her take those risks to save me. Of seeing her expose herself to danger because I’d screwed up. ”
He swallowed hard.
“And all I could think was—what if the rock gives out? What if her gear fails? What if I have to watch her fall and there’s nothing I can do?”
“But she didn’t fall.” Liam’s hand landed on his shoulder, solid and steady. “She climbed brilliantly. Made perfect calls. Got you down safe.”
“This time.”
“Yes. This time. Which is the only time that matters.” Liam squeezed his shoulder. “You can’t protect people from every possible future, Teague. That’s not how any of this works.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Teague closed his eyes. “We’re about to head into the backcountry for days.
Technical, difficult climbs. Unstable rock.
Limited backup. Weather has proven this summer that it could turn in hours.
” His breath fogged the glass again. “And I’m supposed to just trust that she’ll be fine?
That nothing will go wrong? That I won’t have to watch another person I—” He stopped. The words too dangerous to finish.
Liam finished them for him. “Another person you love fall.”
The statement hung in the air.
Teague didn’t confirm or deny it. Didn’t trust his voice.
Outside, someone laughed—the sound carrying clear and bright across the compound.
Love.
Was that what this was? This constant awareness of where she was, what she was doing? This need to make sure she was safe? This ache in his chest every time she looked at him with those blue eyes that saw too much?
“Are you afraid Eden will get hurt?” Liam’s voice was quiet now. “Or are you afraid of how much it will destroy you if she does?”
The question cut to the bone.
“Both.” The word scraped his throat raw. “I’m afraid of both.”
“Trust me, I get it.” Liam’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “When I nearly lost Nimue in June—” A long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was tight. “I nearly came undone. But my brothers reminded me that if the worst happened, I wasn’t alone to face it.”
“Yeah, well.” Teague’s voice came out hollow. “I don’t have a brother anymore.”
“You didn’t let him die. He had an accident.” Liam’s voice was firm now. “And you may not have a biological brother, but you have me. You have Noah. And you have God—if you want Him.”
“Do I?”
Teague closed his eyes.
God.
He’d tried to cling to his faith though it all. To trust that there was a plan bigger than his fear. But every day was a battle. A struggle to believe that God was bigger than all that he faced.
Liam walked over to the small mirror mounted above the dresser, where Teague had taped a piece of paper to the glass the first day—edges soft from handling, ink faded. He tapped it. But Teague didn’t need him to read it.
From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. Psalm 61:2.
His mom had written it out for him when he’d first gotten into rock climbing. And even after everything—after Chip, after the guilt, after the years of running from grief straight into danger—he’d clung to those words.
Because if he hadn’t clung to the fact that there was something higher than him, he would have never made it through.
“It’s just…” He exhaled slowly. “It’s so much easier to do life alone. Less risk.”
“Less joy too.”
The simple truth of it hit him square in the chest.