Chapter 7 #2
“I reached for him.” His voice cracked. “But I hesitated out of shock—just a second. Our hands touched, but I couldn’t grip.”
The brush of Chip’s palm. The calluses. The split second where everything hung suspended—
“If I had just moved a second sooner. If I had moved without thinking, then—”
“Then you could have fallen too.”
His gaze whipped to hers.
In the moonlight, her face was all soft shadows and concern. Those blue eyes steady on his—not pitying, not uncomfortable. Just…present.
“I could have saved him.”
“Maybe.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Or maybe he would have pulled you over.”
She shifted slightly, turning toward him. Her knee brushed his.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have tried. But you can’t shoulder the responsibility for his actions. You can’t spend the rest of your life jumping without looking because you’re terrified of being a second too late.”
Eden’s thumb traced small circles on the back of his hand.
Warmth spread up his arm. “You’re so afraid of hesitating again that you don’t let yourself think at all.
You just act. Move. Take risks that don’t make sense because moving fast seems safer than slowing down.
” She squeezed his hand—the pressure grounding, real.
“But Teague, sometimes the brave thing isn’t moving faster.
It’s pausing long enough to make the right call. ”
“Like you did this morning.” The words came out rough. “When you tried to tell me I was making the wrong choice. A dumb choice.” Teague exhaled slowly. “I was too caught up with my ego. Too focused on beating Kyle. Too afraid of failing my team. But that was exactly what I ended up doing.”
“You didn’t fail us.” She turned to face him fully, pulling her knee up on the wall between them, the denim of her jeans brushing against his cargo pants. “And we know you won’t fail us out there.”
She pointed into the darkness where the canyon dropped away.
A pause. Her eyes held his.
“But even if you do get in a bind again”—she squeezed his hand tighter—“I will be there for you just like you were there for me when I froze.”
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.” Eden smiled—soft, real, the moonlight catching the curve of her lips. “We are.”
A breeze picked up, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Something electric hummed between them—possibility, maybe. Or just the awareness of how close they were. How easy it would be to close the remaining distance.
But she’d drawn a line.
And he wasn’t pushing that.
He leaned back slightly. Her hand on his squeezed tighter—like she didn’t want to let go.
“Eden.” His voice came out rough. “You’ve made it clear this isn’t what you want.”
She was quiet for a moment. Inside, applause erupted—someone had finished a song.
“I never said I didn’t want it.”
Teague’s heart stuttered.
“I said I was too afraid to open that door.”
The admission hung between them. Heavy. Honest.
Around them, the sounds from inside continued. Laughter. Applause. The opening notes of another song.
Teague didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do with this revelation—that the wall between them wasn’t I don’t want you but I’m terrified because I want you.
He understood that fear. Lived it.
“Eden, there you are!”
Kyle’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.
The door hinges creaked as he appeared, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. His boots were heavy on the stone patio. “Come on—our duet’s up next. Like old times.”
Eden swung her legs over the rock wall and pushed to standing. Cool air rushed in where her warmth had been.
“Kyle, I don’t think—”
“Come on, E. It’s tradition.” Kyle stepped closer, his hand landing on the small of her back. Possessive. Familiar. “You and me. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.’ We used to kill that one, remember?”
Eden stepped away from Kyle’s touch. She glanced at Teague. Something flickered in her expression—apology, maybe. Or frustration.
But Teague wasn’t threatened by Kyle.
It wasn’t Kyle keeping them apart. She’d made that clear a minute ago.
He was a patient man.
He followed them inside and watched Kyle lean close to Eden as they took the stage. The way Kyle’s hand lingered at her elbow. The possessive tilt of his head. The way he angled his body toward her like he was staking a claim.
Liam appeared at his shoulder and pressed a fresh Dr Pepper into his hand. The can was cold—straight from the cooler.
“You okay, man?”
“Fine.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
Teague took a long drink. The carbonation was sharp on his tongue. On stage, Kyle and Eden started their duet—their voices blending in a way that spoke of years of friendship, of shared history, of a life Teague hadn’t been part of.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. And tried to believe it.
But four minutes later, as Kyle and Eden exited the stage to scattered applause, Teague knew his next move.
The worn floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked over to the book. His finger traced down the laminated pages until he found it.
He turned to the woman running the karaoke machine. “Number 247.”
She nodded and he took the stage, grabbed the mic as the first chords filled the room.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Teague was taking the stage.
No prompting. No peer pressure. No one dragging him up there kicking and screaming. He’d just…walked up. Grabbed the microphone. Squared his shoulders like he was preparing to rappel into a canyon rescue instead of sing karaoke in a lodge not even half full.
The applause erupted louder than for anyone else tonight—whistles and cheers and someone in the back shouting “Finally!”—and Eden caught the slight smirk on Teague’s face. That ranger confidence she’d come to recognize.
Though tonight it seemed softer around the edges. More vulnerable.
The opening bars filled the air, and Eden froze mid-clap.
“Let My Love Open the Door.”
Her own words from a few minutes ago crashed over her. I never said I didn’t want it. I said I was too afraid to open that door.
Her breathing quickened as she settled her hands in her lap. Everything faded to background noise—the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the scrape of chairs. All of it dissolved until there was nothing but Teague and the song.
The backup track gave way to Teague’s voice—a little flat on some of the notes, rougher and less polished than the original. But somehow that made it more real. More his.
More brave.
Sierra gripped Eden’s arm, her fingers tight with excitement. “Eden.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s singing this for you.”
Eden couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t do anything but stare as Teague’s gaze found hers across the room and held. The soft glow of the pendant lights caught his curls and turned them to copper and gold. His green eyes—those impossible green eyes with their flecks of gold—locked on her face.
And the message was clear.
He wasn’t demanding anything. But he wasn’t hiding how he felt anymore either. And if she would trust him—take a chance on him—he was there for it.
All of it.
She had no doubt that Teague’s love would be patient. Kind. Would never rush. Would always be there to catch her if she chose to jump.
Her heart hammered against her ribs—so hard she wondered if Sierra could sense it through their touching shoulders.
This was all for her. Right here, in front of everyone—friends, coworkers, and strangers alike—he was laying it out.
He was being vulnerable when she’d given him nothing but walls and fear.
He hit a note slightly off-key.
Eden’s chest tightened.
He hated this. She knew he hated this. She’d watched him dodge every single person who’d tried to drag him up there tonight—Nimue, then Liam, then some volunteer whose name she didn’t know. He’d refused them all with that disarming smile and stubborn set to his jaw.
But here he was anyway.
He was doing the thing that terrified him just to send her a message.
Sierra’s voice gentled beside her. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” Eden’s whisper barely carried over the music.
She’d spent a long time terrified of this exact moment. Terrified that opening herself up meant inviting in the kind of pain that had nearly destroyed her when she lost Landon. That loving someone meant giving them the power to shatter you completely.
She’d seen what happened when the anchor failed. Had known that gaping, bottomless void that swallowed everything good and left nothing but ashes.
But yesterday, when she and Teague had gone climbing, she’d been brave.
She’d clipped into that first bolt with shaking hands and pushed past the fear. Trusted the gear. Trusted her body. Trusted that she could do this thing she’d thought she’d lost forever.
And today, she hadn’t just trusted her gear—she’d trusted her instincts. She had remembered what it was like to solve problems and be brave enough to execute the solution. To lead. To rescue. To matter.
Maybe she could be brave here too.
Sierra leaned closer, as if reading her mind. “You were amazing when you climbed today. Scared out of your mind, but you did it anyway.”
Eden watched Teague on that makeshift stage—this man who’d hung out of a helicopter, who’d leaped eight feet to a four-inch hold to rescue someone he didn’t even know. This man who faced death like it was just another problem to solve.
He was taking a risk right now.
Only this time, for her.
He was putting his heart out there where she could reject it. Ignore it. Trample it beneath her boots and walk away.
The song built, and Teague’s voice grew stronger even if it wavered on the higher notes. Tears pricked at the corners of Eden’s eyes, and she blinked them back furiously.
When had she become this person who cried at karaoke?
But it wasn’t really the karaoke, was it? It was what it represented. What he was offering. What he was willing to risk to show her.
The least she could do was meet him halfway.
“What if I mess everything up?” Her eyes never left Teague’s even as she spoke to Sierra.