Sawyer crouched in front of her, poked a finger between her sulky eyebrows. “Do I have to give you The Talk?”
For one soaring moment, she wanted to punch him. Then her anger deflated as completely as her biceps. “No. Tantrum avoided.”
“You did more than anyone in your point of recovery has a right to,” Sasha pointed out. “It sort of pisses me off.”
“Okay, that’s something.”
“Three-mile run,” Doyle announced.
“We do five,” Riley countered.
“Today it’s three.”
“I can do five.”
“Bollocks. And pushing it to five only means you’ll be in worse shape tomorrow. Three, and we pace you.”
She started to bitch, caught Sawyer’s arch look, decided she really didn’t want her own words shoved in her face. She got to her feet.
“How about this? The five of you run the usual. I’ll use the machine in the gym, keep it to three miles. I’ll only slow you down.”
“I can stay with Riley,” Annika said.
“No need for that. I’ll be in the house, in the gym. Treadmill, three miles.” Riley crossed a finger over her heart.
“Done. Let’s move,” Doyle ordered.
She hated that he was right, already knew she could only manage five miles if she’d limped or crawled through it. Better to keep it to three, moderate pace, and try for more next time.
She barely made the three, even with music to distract her.
Dripping sweat, she sat on a bench, guzzled water. She made herself stretch, consoled herself she already had her breath back.
And eyed the weight rack.
She hadn’t promised not to lift.
She picked up a pair of twenty-pound weights, set, began a set of curls.
“Take it down to ten,” Doyle said from the doorway.
“I can do twenty.”
“And you’ll strain muscles instead of building them back up.”
Sheer stubbornness had her doing another rep before she racked them, picked up the tens. “You’re right.” She reset her position for triceps kickbacks. “I don’t need a spotter.”
“A keeper’s more like it. You’re too smart for this, Gwin. You know you’ll set recovery back by overdoing.”
“I won’t overdo, but I need to work it some. I’ve never really been sick, not seriously. A couple of days, stomach bug, a cold, whatever. Hungover, sure. But I bounce back. I need to bounce back.”
Saying nothing, he walked to the rack, took a fifty. He sat, smoothly curled.
“Show-off.”
She switched to shoulder raises, moved to chest curls, onto flies, found a simpatico rhythm with him working nearby.
“That covers it,” Doyle announced when she finished a second set.