Page 158 of Savior

He looked. Then he handed me a sheet of paper. “Four.”

I stared at it. “Miles?”

“No, Piper. Hostages. Miles.”

“Four is insulting.”

“Good.”

I looked up. He had his sunglasses pushed onto his head and his clipboard tucked beneath one arm. His expression gave me nothing.

“You know I usually do more than four.”

“I do.” Coach Ben glanced down at his clipboard as though reconsidering. “Three?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Keep talking,” he warned.

I shut my mouth. His lips twitched.

“Four, then. Easy. Campus loop. Stay on school property.” There it was.

I looked at him. He met my stare with bland patience.

“You’re keeping me on campus.”

“I’m hiding it very poorly.”

“I can run through town.”

“I’ve heard.” His gaze touched my bruised arm, then moved past me toward the parking lot.

My mouth tightened. Of course he noticed.

Coach Ben knew when to stop poking. He tapped the workout sheet against my shoulder. “Four easy. Twenty minutes of mobility when you’re done.”

I made a face. “I hate mobility.”

“I know. That’s part of the appeal.”

I took the paper. That was one of the things I liked about him. He didn’t make concern feel like pity.

Dad worried like a cop. Mom worried like a mother.

The Bishops worried like a private militia with boundary issues.

Ben worried like a coach. It was mostly irritating but so normal. I could work with that.

I tucked the sheet beneath my water bottle and bent to retie my shoe.

When I straightened, Ben wasn’t looking at me anymore. His attention had gone past my shoulder toward the parking lot.

I followed his gaze. Nothing unusual. “You keep doing that.”

One eyebrow lifted.

“Watching everything behind me.”