Page 125 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

I do a laugh-cry and nod. "I can't wait."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

RUSTY

Istorm into the kitchen at Patty's. "What did you do?" Patty asks.

I must look as bad as I feel, which is a mile or two below rock bottom. "Nothin'."

"What are you fixin' to do?"

I grab a knife and start dicing carrots. With a vengeance.

"Where's your girl?"

"Home, probably. And she's not my girl."

Patty shakes his head and shifts cheese curds around in the fryer. "She likes you."

"I know. That's the problem."

Patty pauses. "You and I see this very differently."

"I shouldn't have come," I say, setting the knife down. "Sorry, Patty. I'm not in the right mind to be company for anyone."

Patty grabs my arm. "Hey, Sean said he saw Arlo shoutin' at you outside Mudcakes the other night. You know you're not him, right?"

"I wish. But thanks, man. You're a good friend."

I exit the kitchen through the bar, and head into the bathroom to splash water on my face. When I'm done, I grip the sink and breathe in to the count of seven and out to the count of eleven. I repeat it until the spots in my vision subside.

After giving myself a mental shake, I leave the restroom and spot a table of middle-aged men laughing together. One of them is Matt's dad. Matt has been an exemplary worker, so I go over to the table.

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but you're Mr. Peters, aren't you? Matt's dad?"

He gives his friends a look I can't interpret. "I am. What's this about?"

"You've raised a good young man, sir. He works for me running our biggest fruit stand. He's the hardest worker I have."

Mr. Peters shifts to look at me. "You're his boss? Ain't you Arlo Fielding's boy?"

My hackles rise. "Yes sir."

The man nods and turns back to his drink. "Makes sense. To hear your old man tell it, you and Matt must be cut from the same cloth. Glad he's working out for you."

This should be a compliment, but even without the smirks from his friends, it's clearly not. "And what cloth would that be? Sir?"

I shift on my feet. I'm bigger than each of these bullies. They may have been tough once, but even if none of them are alcoholics like Arlo, they've gone soft?—

Holy cow. What am I doing? Am I sizing them up? Picking a fight? Matt is an adult now. He can escape his dad like I did. I'm putting my energy in the wrong place.

"You know, forget about it. I'll take it as a compliment to be anything like Matt."

I take a couple of steps away when I hear one of the men say, "Spare the rod, spoil the child."

And I'm about to snap.

I run from the bar, blood coursing through my veins so fast, the world sounds fuzzy and dull. Panting, I bend over and am almost sick. Has he hit Matt? Can I really walk away knowing that Matt might go home to him?

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