Page 35 of Nothing But Air

Don’t look at his arms. Don’t look at his arms. Don’t?—

Too late.

Eden stood at the anchor point, forty-five feet above where they’d started the climb, watching Teague climb toward her with the kind of fluid grace that made her mouth go dry. The muscles in his shoulders bunched and released beneath his technical climbing shirt. His forearms flexed as he crimped a tiny edge. And she was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not staring.

You’re in trouble, Garrison.

Real trouble.

Because she’d done it. Actually climbed past the fear that had paralyzed her for two years. Pushed through the panic clenching her lungs on the first pitch, the voice screaming You can’t do this. You’re going to fall. You’re going to die just like?—

But she hadn’t fallen. Hadn’t died.

Her fingers were raw, chalk caked in the creases of her knuckles, forearms burning with that familiar ache she’d almost forgotten. The ache of effort. Of living.

And now she had a new problem.

Teague Hamilton, moving up the sandstone face like he’d been born on vertical rock, his reddish-brown curls peeked from under his helmet, catching copper in the morning light.

My brother, Chip, died…We were hiking…And he fell.

She’d assumed his rescues, his constant pushing into danger, came from adrenaline. From chasing the high of risk—the same reckless hunger that had driven Landon higher and higher until the mountain took him.

But it wasn’t that at all.

The vulnerability in his voice when he’d talked about Chip echoed in her memory. The way he’d looked at her when he said she wasn’t alone—like he meant it down to his bones.

The way he’d convinced her to climb again when she’d been seconds from walking off this ledge forever.

She’d made it to the anchor. But now the real test waited just below her ribs—could she keep herself from falling? Not off the rock. But back into hope?

Teague reached the anchor, clipping his locking carabiner into the bolted chains with a satisfying snap. He pulled himself onto the narrow ledge, his shoulder brushing hers as he found footing on sun-warmed sandstone.

Then he rose to his full height—close, too close on this tiny platform—and a smile stretched across his face.

“You are a fierce climber.”

“Thanks.” Eden nodded, then bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

“I’m serious. The way you underclung that overhang and used the heel hook to reach that crimper…” He shook his head, curls falling across his forehead. “Brilliant. I’ve made this climb more times than I can count and never thought to do that.”

He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling just inches from hers. A bead of sweat traced down his temple, disappearing into his trimmed beard. “Did you see that I copied it on my way up?”

“No.”

His smile dimmed.

He probably thought she hadn’t noticed because she didn’t care enough to watch. Better for him to think that than the truth—that she’d been so distracted watching the way his body moved, she hadn’t paid attention to his technique at all.

Get it together, Garrison.

“Well, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “It was brilliant.”

He turned to face outward, and Eden followed his gaze.

The canyon dropped away in layers of ancient stone—brown, tan, and shades of gray, carved by time into impossible shapes. The mid-morning sun painted the rock in shades of fire. A vulture circled below them, riding thermals, and somewhere a raven called—its rough cry echoing off stone walls.

The air smelled of sunbaked sandstone and juniper. Clean. Sharp. Alive.