Chapter 11 #3
“No.” She stood, putting distance between them. Not much—the camp was too small—but enough that she could breathe. Enough that she couldn’t smell his soap, couldn’t feel his warmth, couldn’t remember what it had been like when he’d kissed her on that plateau.
“You made it clear. And you’re right—I overstepped when I told you not to jump. You’re in charge.” Her voice came out flat. Controlled. “Let’s face it. We were rushing things. I have my issues. You have yours. Let’s just get through this.”
“That’s not…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I wish you’d just trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“Funny.” She let the word hang. “I wish I could trust you.”
His head snapped back like she’d slapped him.
“But you just proved I can’t.” She kept her voice quiet. Precise. “You jumped over a two-hundred-foot drop without a second thought. Dismissed everything I said like it didn’t matter.” Her voice cracked. Just slightly. “Like I didn’t matter.”
“You’re right.” His voice was rough. Raw. “I should have talked to you. Should have asked instead of just…telling Xander to take you the long way. I’m sorry.”
Eden stared at the fire. The flames danced and flickered, casting shifting shadows across the stone.
She wanted to accept the apology. Wanted to let the anger drain away because they had bigger problems—sabotaged radios, injured climbers, someone in this camp who wasn’t who they claimed to be.
But she couldn’t do this.
“I know you’re sorry.” She met his eyes. “But put in the same situation again, you’d still jump.”
The guilt that flickered across his face told her she was right.
“I just—”
“Had to get to Liam. I know.” Eden wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the fire. “But here’s the thing, Teague. You can’t move fast enough, jump far enough, climb high enough, or save enough people to heal the hole that Chip left when he died.”
Teague flinched like she’d struck him.
“You talk about putting your trust in God. In the Rock.” Her voice dropped. “But do you? Because to me, it looks like the only one you put faith in is Teague.”
“That’s not fair.” His voice was hoarse. “You don’t know what it’s like to—”
“Lose someone?” The words cut like a blade. “I do. And I know what it’s like to lose someone unnecessarily because they wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t put anything above the next climb, the next rescue, the next chance to prove they were invincible.”
She closed her eyes. Drew a breath that shuddered on the way in. “I can’t do this.”
“We can talk later, when we’ve—”
“No.” She gestured between them. “This. Whatever was starting between us.”
The firelight caught the devastation that swept across his face.
“As much as I care for you…” Her voice broke. She forced herself to continue. “Maybe because I care for you. I can’t be in a relationship where I’m always wondering if this will be the day you push too far and don’t come home.”
Teague swallowed hard. His jaw tightened. Something shattered behind his eyes—something she couldn’t let herself look at too closely or she’d break.
“I’ll go sit with Liam.” His voice was rough. Hollow. “Stay where I can see you.” He turned and walked away.
Everything in Eden screamed to call him back. To take it back. To run after him and tell him she didn’t mean it, that she was just scared, that they could figure it out together.
But she couldn’t open herself up like that again.
She could be professional. Could work with him. Could solve what was happening. Could help him get everyone out alive.
But trust him with her heart?
Not anymore.
Three weeks post-op, and Noah Wilde was going to lose his mind.
He paced the ranger office, boots scuffing against the worn hardwood, his palm pressed to his right side where the surgical incisions still pulled with every step. The dull ache had become a constant companion—a reminder of everything he couldn’t do.
Everything he should be doing.
Outside the window, the dark sky haunted him. He should have gone to bed hours ago, but something cold had settled in his gut and refused to leave. Definitely refused to let him sleep.
Something is wrong.
Noah stared at the vast emptiness where Liam and Teague were somewhere out of contact. Two of his best friends. Two of the most capable rangers he’d ever worked with.
Radio silence didn’t mean disaster. Usually.
But something wasn’t right, and according to the satellite image, a storm gathered from the west and should be there sometime tomorrow.
The radio sat on the desk, its green power light blinking. Nothing. Not a crackle, not a voice—just dead air. The solar storm had knocked out communications the past two days, but even with that past, they had remained silent.
Noah’s fingers brushed the small velvet box in his pocket. Still there. Still waiting.
Perfect.
He’d carried it for four days, waiting for the right moment to drop to one knee and ask Meg to spend forever with him. But proposing in the cramped ranger office with its burnt-coffee smell? She deserved better. A sunset. A waterfall. Definitely not his anxious pacing.
Later. He’d find the right moment later.
“Here.” Nimue’s voice pulled him back. She stood at the large topographical map on the south wall, one finger tracing the web of drainages and trails.
Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, and her brown eyes held that sharp, calculating look that meant she was running scenarios.
They had all been up manning the radios, all of them refusing sleep.
“If we sent a team from this access point at first light”—she tapped a junction near Thunder River—“they could intercept both groups in about seven hours.”
Meg moved closer to the map, her dark waves pulled back in a messy ponytail. He stepped up beside them. “That’s assuming the weather holds. If this storm moves in earlier than expected, half these trails will be running water within an hour.”
If their helicopter weren’t down, he’d just make the trip. But this wasn’t dire enough to call in outside SAR resources. Not yet. A down radio wasn’t an emergency. Standard protocol said wait, monitor, prepare.
“We could go in from this approach.” He pointed to the trailhead he’d hiked a dozen times with Teague. “Cut across here, drop down this drainage—”
“We?” Meg’s voice stopped him cold.