Chapter 6 #2
Because Liam was right. These past few months with Eden—even with the frustration and the fear—had made him more alive than he’d been in a long time. Had made him remember what it was like to look forward to tomorrow instead of just surviving today.
“Come on.” Liam grabbed his hoodie and moved toward the door. “You’re going to dinner whether you like it or not.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Too bad. You need to eat, and you need to stop hiding in here.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’re absolutely hiding.” Liam opened the door, and cooler evening air rushed in. “You’re going to march into that dining hall, get some food, and remind yourself why you’re doing this.”
Teague followed reluctantly, pulling on his jacket as they stepped outside.
The compound stretched before them—rustic cabins arranged around the main lodge, carved out of the wilderness at the canyon’s edge. Ponderosa pines towered overhead, their bark glowing orange in the slanting light.
They walked toward the dining hall, boots crunching on gravel. Through the windows, Teague could see people gathering for dinner—the skeleton crew filling the long wooden tables.
And there—at a table near the far window—Eden sat with Sierra and Trey and Kyle.
Teague’s steps slowed.
The warm light caught her blonde hair, turning it to honey and gold. She was laughing at something Sierra had said, hands gesturing wildly. She looked relaxed. Happy. More at ease than he’d seen her all summer.
Kyle sat directly across from her. Leaning forward. Attention focused entirely on Eden.
“Easy.” Liam’s voice was low. “She’s allowed to have friends.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop looking like you want to throw Kyle off a cliff every time you see him.”
“I don’t.” But what was the point in arguing? “Not every time.”
They climbed the steps and pulled open one of the large wooden doors. The quiet of the empty lodge still felt unnatural, the dining hall down to just ten tables being used, and none of them full. The warm smell of roasted chicken and fresh bread filled the air.
Noah waved from a table near the kitchen. Marcus and Xander were already seated, deep in conversation.
Teague grabbed a plate and moved through the serving line on autopilot. Chicken. Potatoes. Green beans. The food looked good, but his appetite had vanished the moment he’d seen Kyle rest his hand on Eden’s arm.
He needed to trust Eden.
Had to trust his team.
Had to trust that loving someone meant letting them climb their own routes—even when it terrified him.
The question was whether his heart would survive what came next.
“You coming?” Liam stood by their team’s table, one eyebrow raised.
Teague forced his gaze away from Eden’s table. Followed his friend. Sat down. Picked up his fork.
But his attention kept drifting back to that table by the window.
To the way Eden’s face lit up when she smiled.
To the way Kyle leaned closer.
To the way his chest tightened every time she looked happier with her old life than she’d ever looked with her new one.
He was in so much trouble.
Stop looking at him. Stop looking at him. Stop—
Eden’s gaze drifted toward Teague’s table for the fourth time in ten minutes.
Pathetic, Garrison. Truly pathetic.
She forced herself to focus on Sierra’s story.
Teague had settled into a seat a few tables away, but facing her direction.
The lodge dining hall hummed around them—silverware clinking, low conversation and laughter from most of the tables.
Pendant lights cast pools of gold over the room, and the smell of roasted chicken mixed with pine drifting through open windows.
“—so I’m halfway up this off-width crack, completely stuck, when I realize the client below me is taking photos.” Sierra shook her head, her dark pixie cut catching the light. “Not of the view. Of my struggle. Said he wanted to remember the moment his guide looked ‘authentically challenged.’”
Trey grinned. “Please tell me you made him delete them.”
“Are you kidding? I charged him extra for entertainment value.” Sierra sipped her water, eyes dancing. “Though I did make him climb it next. He got about ten feet before he was begging for beta.”
Eden smiled, the familiar rhythm of climbing stories settling something in her chest. This was the language she’d grown up speaking—tales of difficult clients and harder routes, of near-misses and hard-won summits.
But calling her friends back here, sitting with them like this—it meant opening the door to her past. To memories she’d locked in a box labeled Do Not Open.
“What about you, E?” Trey leaned forward, his brown eyes—so much like Landon’s—warm with nostalgia. “Remember that Fourth of July when you convinced half the town that Mrs. Henderson’s cat was actually a small mountain lion?”
The memory surfaced, surprisingly clear. “In my defense, that cat was enormous. And it did growl at people.”
“You had the sheriff’s department out there with tranquilizer guns.” Sierra was already grinning. “Poor Mrs. Henderson nearly had a heart attack.”
“She forgave me eventually. I brought her cookies, and she told me I had an ‘overactive imagination suited for storytelling, not law enforcement.’”
“Didn’t you write that essay about it for school?” Trey’s smile was a ghost of his brother’s. “Landon used to tell that story at parties. Said it was the moment he knew you were trouble in the best way.”
The mention of Landon’s name should have hurt more.
Eden waited for the familiar wave of grief—the one that usually crashed over her and pulled her under. But instead…something gentler. Nostalgia mixed with sadness. Bittersweet ache without destruction.
Huh.
“He told that story at our engagement party.” Her voice came out steady. “Made it way more dramatic than it actually was.”
“That was Landon.” Trey’s smile was sad but genuine. “Always made everything an adventure.”
Kyle shifted in his seat, his attention sharpening. Something about the movement—deliberate, calculated—made Eden’s shoulders tense.
“Remember that climb we did in Red Rocks?” His voice was casual. Too casual. “When Landon free-soloed that section just to prove he could?”
Something in his tone made the hair on Eden’s arms rise. Not quite criticism. More like…a weapon being loaded.
“He was always pushing limits.” She kept her voice neutral.
“Some would say too far.” Kyle’s gaze flicked across the dining hall—to where Teague sat with his elbows on the table, the position emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But at least he knew what he was doing. Had the skills to back up the risks.”
The implication hung in the air like smoke.
Oh, you did not just—
Sierra’s eyes narrowed. Trey looked uncomfortable, his gaze dropping to his plate.
“Kyle—” Trey started.
“I’m just saying.” Kyle’s tone stayed casual, but his eyes were sharp. “Experience matters. Especially when lives are on the line.”
Eden’s hands curled into fists beneath the table. He was trying to undermine whatever was building between them, and she wasn’t sure why.
“So, karaoke at eight.” Sierra leaned forward, voice deliberately bright. “I’ve already gotten approval from Virgil and spread the word. Everyone’s going, right? It’s tradition the night before a big climb.”
Thank you, Sierra.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Trey shot Sierra a grateful look. “Though I’m claiming ‘Sweet Caroline’ before anyone else does.”
“You claim it every year.” Sierra rolled her eyes. “Eden, please tell me you’re still doing your tragic rendition of Journey?”
Despite the tension coiled in her chest, Eden smiled. “‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ is a classic, and I will not hear otherwise. And it’s better than Kyle’s ‘The Gambler.’”
Kyle’s jaw dropped. “That song is a masterpiece.”
“It’s a masterpiece when someone who can sing performs it.” Sierra patted his arm. “When you do it, it’s a crime against music.”
“Rude.” Trey let out a laugh. “Accurate, but rude.”
Eden glanced toward Teague’s table again—couldn’t help it—and found him listening to Noah, his expression serious. The lamplight cast shadows across his jaw.
As if sensing her attention, his gaze shifted to hers and held.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. But something passed between them—recognition, connection, a current that seemed to hum through the air.
Then Xander said something that made the whole table laugh, and Teague’s attention shifted back. But not before Eden caught the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Earth to Eden.” Sierra’s voice was singsong. “You gonna eat that food or just stare at Hamilton all night?”
“I wasn’t staring.” She let out a long breath.
“Uh-huh.” Sierra’s expression turned far too knowing. “And you definitely haven’t been tracking him since he walked in.”
Trey glanced toward Teague’s table, then back, with raised eyebrows. “So it’s like that?”
“It’s not like anything.” Eden forced herself to take a bite of chicken. Barely tasted it. “We’re teammates. That’s all.”
“Right.” Sierra leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Because teammates sneak glances at each other when they think no one’s watching. Teammates bring out that cute little blush on your cheeks.”
“I’m not blushing—”
“You are.” Sierra reached over and gently patted her cheek. “And it’s kind of adorable.”
Trey’s expression softened. He was quiet for a moment, gaze moving between Eden and Teague. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Landon would like him, you know.”
Eden’s hands stilled. “What?”
“Teague.” Trey’s brown eyes—Landon’s eyes—held hers. “Landon would respect him. The way he admits when he needs help instead of letting pride get someone hurt. The way he protects you but doesn’t smother.” A pause. “That’s the kind of guy Landon would want for you.”
Eden’s throat went tight. “Trey—”
“I mean it, E.” Soft but firm. “You’re allowed to be interested in someone. Landon would hate knowing you were alone because of him.”
Kyle’s jaw tightened, fingers drumming against the table. “Speaking of tomorrow—we should probably talk about coordination between teams.”
Subtle, Kyle. Really subtle.
Everyone stared at him. The silence stretched, awkward.