A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(87)

Climbing the staircase on the left, I took the bedroom and didn’t bother to unpack more than my running gear. Everything else could wait. The pressure I was all too acquainted with was in my chest, my head, begging to be released with every doubt that Reed had shoved into my brain.

Ten minutes later, I was laced up and could finally breathe. The trails were the same. The air burned my lungs with a familiar ache. The sun hit my skin with nostalgic intensity. My feet followed the rocky paths as though they’d never left them, as if I’d been running here yesterday and not ten years ago. I turned onto the dirt road that switch-backed up the mountain to the top of the lift and ran harder, pushing myself further. Only when my body screamed for mercy—and oxygen—did I turn around and jog back down, stripping off my shirt and tucking it at the back of my gym shorts. The fifty-degree air felt fantastic on my sweat-soaked skin.

It would take me at least a month to acclimate to the altitude, and longer to rebuild the endurance I’d gained while stationed at Fort Drum in New York.

By the time I got back to the house, all I could think about was food, and I fumbled in the kitchen for the cookware all the units were issued with, starting the bacon.

It was only ten thirty. How had my life changed so drastically in three freaking hours?

Because you said yes.

The sound of sizzling bacon filled the space as I cooked, turning the bacon with a fork.

The Bell was the right choice. It had the greatest capacity. Even if we grew to taking multiple groups to multiple runs, it was the way to go. It was the safer way to go. Then stop second-guessing yourself just because of Reed.

The front door opened and my head shot up. What the hell?

A blond woman walked in, answering a phone that was jammed between her ear and shoulder, juggling a purple backpack and another black bag, her attention on something behind her as she looked over her shoulder.

“Hey, Ava,” she said, tugging her keys from the door. “What’s up?”

My jaw slackened.

She had the kind of profile that belonged in photographs—high cheekbones, pert little nose, and a mouth that made my breath catch as it curved into a smile. That smile was fucking gorgeous, lighting up her entire face as she pivoted, and somehow I knew her eyes were Colorado blue. A nagging sense of déjà vu chewed at the edge of my mind, like a half-recalled memory from a drunken night.

But what was she doing in my house? Had Reed sent her? I opened my mouth to ask just as a miniature version of the woman appeared, scooting past her mother. The little girl saw me within a heartbeat, her little eyes flying wide.

I blinked.

She screamed.





Get your copy of A Little Too Close by Rebecca Yarros wherever ebooks are sold.

The Madigan Mountain series is: A Little Too Late by Sarina Bowen A Little Too Close by Rebecca Yarros

A Little Too Wild by Devney Perry