Page 32 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

I’ll pray for that rainy day for the rest of my life.

My boots crunch on the gravel, pulling my gaze down. In so many ways, I'm still the scared kid Tag let into his workshop. I'm still the hurt kid he took to the ER when Arlo's rage got too heated, and I had to distract him from my mom and sister. I'm still the violently angry seventeen year-old who found his dad at this very bar on the day of his sister's funeral and who snapped. Hard.

Even then, Tag somehow believed in me.

I didn't. Still don't.

And that's why I'm here. At Patty's.

I open the door to the bar and the world instantly darkens. Like so many taverns, this place is all low, warm lights and dark wood. The chairs are all up on the tables, as they won't open for lunch till noon. By then, the smell of corned beef will overpower the smell of alcohol.

I hate the smell of alcohol. Cheap beer, expensive wine, and everything in between.

It all reeks.

Ash doesn't drink because it affects her ADHD meds, and I find that I appreciate her ADHD even more because of it.

Despicable, right? Sometimes I'm so selfish, it makes me sick.

Sean comes from the back with a box over his shoulder and gives me a nod.

"Patty's in the lounge," he says.

"Thanks, man," I say, though the piano coming from the other room is a dead giveaway. I'm here twice a week, and it's always for the same reason. I walk through the swinging lounge doors.

The bar may be a dive, but it's a popular spot for live music. Some big names come through, largely due to Patty, and those weekends draw a big crowd. Patty downplays it, but it's an "if you know, you know" situation that the few of us who know keep quiet about.

Music fills the large lounge with a warm, rich tone. The acoustics in here are almost worthy of the pianist.

Patty's fingers fly across the piano, playing a song that's familiar but that I can't quite place. I approach the piano and Patty nods, meeting my eyes in spite of the stupidly complicated finger movements.

"I've heard this before. What is it?"

"Gershwin, Rhapsody in Blue," Patty says. I cock my head to the side. "It's in the United Airlines safety video."

"It sounds complicated."

Patty shrugs. "My fingers are out of practice."

"I don't think even the music snobs at the New England Conservatory of Music would think so."

"You gotta stop with that nonsense," Patty says. "I dropped out."

"After two years and a rec—" Patty's fingers slip, and the dissonance stops me quicker than my friend's icy look. "Sorry," I say.

The music resumes, but it's louder now. Harsher, but still beautiful. "What's new?"

"I'm fake dating Ash," I say.

"How did that happen?"

"Her ex came into town, and he's a manipulative piece of crap."

"So you posed as her fake boyfriend … why exactly?"

"To protect her, I guess? She asked if you're hot, by the way."

Patty smirks. "What'd you say?"

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