Read Online Knock Me for a Loop by Heidi Betts - Free Book Online Page B

much of anything before waking up in the hospital with his cracked skull wrapped like a mummy, his leg covered in a hip-to-toe cast and elevated by wires, and tubes pumping some truly amazing painkillers into his veins.
    Sinking down in his chair, he slouched his shoulders and linked his hands low on his stomach—which, okay, had gone a little soft over the past month, thanks to his lack of mobility and dietary choices—pretending to be involved in the action taking place on the TV screen.
    Shit! he realized belatedly. Leaning forward, he grabbed the remote from the glass-topped coffee table, grimacing when the movement pulled at his knee and sent pain shooting up the full length of his leg.
    Punching buttons, he quickly changed the channel in case whoever was at the door ended up coming in. All he needed was for someone—close friend, mild acquaintance, or complete stranger—to discover that in addition to taking up knitting, blowing off rehab, and letting himself go to fat, he spent his days watching soap operas.
    They were surprisingly interesting. He started with The Young and the Restless when he rolled out of bed around noon, then tried to catch One Life to Live and General Hospital. He liked Guiding Light and Days of Our Lives , too, so sometimes he would TiVo those to watch later.
    And God bless SoapNet. If he missed a show, he could catch the recaps there, as well as all-day marathons of older episodes and even serials that were no longer on the air.
    He wasn’t proud of his new hobby, but he wasn’t ashamed enough to give it up, either.
    The voices at the door grew louder, and he returned to his apathetic slump. He heard Magda complaining in rapid Spanglish, followed by lower, hushed tones.
    Zack sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing two fingers over the spot between his eyes where a headache was brewing. He got them a lot these days, thanks to the concussion he’d suffered when his helmet had flown off and the back of his skull had smacked the ice.
    They seemed somehow worse, though, when his friends showed up unannounced and tried to bully him into getting better and giving up his life of leisure.
    Well, the joke was on them. He liked his life of leisure, and suspected they’d be only too happy to join him if they got a gander at some of the chicks heating up the sheets on daytime television.
    Thirty seconds later, slow footsteps sounded behind him. When they came to a halt, he felt both their breaths on the back of his neck and their censure over the fact that he was still in his wheelchair, in the exact same spot as the last time they’d stopped by to check on him three days before.
    “Don’t you ever get out of this damn thing?” Gage asked, voice soured with annoyance. He punctuated the question by kicking one of the wide wheels of the chair with the toe of his boot.
    “Where am I supposed to go?” he returned, not bothering to turn his head in their direction. “It’s not like I can do much with this bum leg.”
    Dylan came around, skirting his chair and the low coffee table, and took a seat on the sofa…dangerously close to the spot where Zack had hidden his needles and yarn. Zack watched his friend’s progress, careful to keep his eyes front and center rather than letting them stray to something he’d prefer not to have to explain.
    As Gage moved around and took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, Zack shifted the chair to face them better, getting situated just in time to have Dylan start in on the lecture du jour.
    “You wouldn’t still have a bum leg if you’d go to physical therapy like you’re supposed to.”
    “The doctors say you’d have almost full use of it by now, be up and around and that much closer to getting back on the ice, if you weren’t being such a stubborn ass.”
    This from Gage, whose tolerance levels were significantly lower than Dylan’s. Both had been fully sympathetic while he was in the hospital and soon after his release. They’d helped him get home,