Free Knock Me for a Loop by Heidi Betts Page A

artificial-cheese-flavored dust flying.
    “You’re on your own, buddy.”
    With that, he turned a scornful glance to Dylan and added, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away, too. Leave him to wallow in his own misery.”
    And then he stomped off, his heavy, booted steps echoing across the wide-plank hardwood floors, followed by the hard slam of the front door.
    All was silent from in the kitchen, Zack noticed. No doubt Magda had her head cocked and her ears primed, hanging on every word of the rather one-sided conversation taking place not twenty feet away.
    Not that Gage’s raised voice could be missed. A couple decibels higher and he could probably be heard all the way down at the waterfront.
    Moving more slowly and with less agitation than Gage, Dylan put his hands to his knees and stood to look down at Zack.
    “I wish I could say he’s wrong or overreacting, but…” He shook his head. “What’s going on with you, man? What happened to the fun-loving guy who would do anything for a laugh, anything on a dare? The friend we used to like hanging out with because he never took anything too seriously and reminded us that no matter how tough things got, there was always some stupid story or joke he could pull out of his hat that could crack us up. And what about the star goalie who was always there for his teammates, always insisted on partying after a game, even if they’d taken a loss?”
    Though Zack tried not to make eye contact with his friend, it would take a blind man not to see the confusion, the concern, and yes, the pity in Dylan’s expression. He locked his jaw and let his back teeth grind for a while.
    It felt good. Took his mind off the throb in his knee and helped him block out the tune his friend was playing on the world’s smallest violin.
    “We miss you,” Dylan said, finally bringing his speech to a close. “And I think Gage may be right—until you get your head on straight, figure out whether you want your life back or want to sit here feeling sorry for yourself…I don’t think we can come around anymore. You really are on your own.”
    Skirting the glass-topped table with slow, deliberate steps, Dylan crossed the room and let himself out of the apartment. The click of the door, much softer and less emphatic than Gage’s angry slam, still managed to ring in Zack’s ears like the gong of a bell.
    A low ache pulsed in his chest. Guilt? Regret?
    Eh, they’d get over it. Give them a week and they’d be back, ready to watch the next big game on his fifty-two-inch plasma, peace offerings of pizza and beer in tow.
    Maybe he’d even play hard-ass and insist on a few strange, hard-to-get toppings like papaya or crawfish.
    Mmmm, sounded good. Maybe that pang in his gut wasn’t guilt or regret, after all. Maybe it was plain old hunger.
    Glancing down at the front of his cheese-dusted T-shirt, he picked up a doodle and popped it in his mouth, savoring the sharp flavor and massive, ongoing crunch as he chewed.
    Hiding away from the world. Feeling sorry for himself. Couldn’t take care of himself. Ha! He couldn’t wait for his friends to figure out just how wrong they were.
    In the meantime, he’d be just fine by himself.
    He always was.

Row 5
    One week later…
    If ever there was something Grace did not want to do, this would be it.
    She stood outside the door to Zack’s apartment, trying to school her breathing, slow her pulse, and not either throw up or run away.
    But she wouldn’t—throw up or run away, that was.
    The first because it was messy and undignified, and there was nowhere to do it properly in the otherwise empty hallway.
    The second because it would be proof that she was nervous about what she was about to do—which she would admit to only under threat of death…or having the fat sucked out of her ass with a bendy straw and no anesthesia—and because she suspected her presence was truly needed.
    Not deserved , but needed.
    Her friends had been bugging her for