Page 137 of Nothing But Air

For the first time in two years, she didn’t fight it. Didn’t run.

God, I can’t do this alone. I’ve been trying to be strong enough, careful enough, in control enough—and I’m not. I’m so tired of carrying this by myself.

Please. Help me trust the rope. Trust Teague. Trust You.

The prayer was ragged. Imperfect. Nothing like the thought-out words she used to offer before Landon died.

But it was real. Raw. Honest.

“Okay.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Let’s do this.”

Eden had spent the summer questioning Teague’s judgment. Turned out his judgment—reckless, impulsive, utterly terrifying judgment—had just saved her life. Twice.

She was going to have to rethink some things.

A few minutes later, they reached the top of the plateau. Storm clouds retreated toward the eastern rim, trailing curtains of rain that caught the sun peeking through the western sky. Kyle must have seen them pop up, because a shot rang out as rock exploded a couple yards away.

Teague grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the edge, put solid rock between them and where Kyle hunted below. “I doubt Kyle can make the climb, but maybe if he’s focused on us, he’ll leave Marcus be.”

They sat collapsed against a large boulder, both gasping for breath, lungs burning from the climb.

“Now what?” Eden’s voice was quiet.

“Now we wait for rescue and try not to get shot.”

“Solid plan.”

“I thought so.”

He turned toward her, checking her over. “Are you okay?”

“My wrist really hurts. But I don’t think it’s broken.” She cradled it against her side. “I’m alive. We’re alive.”

“Yeah.” Teague’s thumb brushed across her cheekbone. “We are.”

It wasn’t the most romantic declaration. But after a murderer, a storm, a near-fatal climb, and more gunfire than she’d ever wanted to experience—it was enough.

She looked at Teague. Really looked at him.

Dirt streaked his face, mixed with sweat and rain. His auburn hair curled at his temples. His shirt was torn on his back—she could see the scrape beneath, raw and red.

“You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy.” That crooked grin appeared. “Oh, wait. You did.”

“Too soon.”

“Fair enough.”

She traced her finger along the torn fabric of his shirt. “This looks painful.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You say that a lot.”

“I’ve had it worse a lot.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer against his chest.

She could hear his heart beating—strong and sure beneath her cheek. Alive. He was alive. They both were.