The Exception by Lauren H. Mae

Fourteen

Where is he?

Sonya glanced at her watch—again—and tried to temper her rising annoyance. Lunch break had ended six—no, seven minutes ago and Trav was still nowhere to be found. He must’ve taken that run a few days ago to mean they were friends and he could start slacking off. They were most certainly not friends and he was about to earn his second demerit.

Still, she couldn’t shake the idea that this was her fault somehow. She’d already been kicking herself for challenging him to that treadmill run in the first place. It was too friendly but it also invited him into her world a little bit, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him there. They were preceptor and intern, not buddies who had a good time running together until their legs felt like jelly.

Her mind drifted back to the way his damp t-shirt clung to his abs and those thick arms when he pulled a hand through his sweaty hair. Then, she noped those thoughts right back to the depths of her subconscious where they came from. She wasn’t about to let the memory have any control.

She needed to get to work, so after letting Heather know where she would be when Trav turned up, she took off down the hall to see one of her long-standing patients.

Frank was a retired soldier, and he reminded her so much of her dad that she couldn’t help but grow attached to him. It didn’t help that he had a daughter that was around Sonya’s age when her parents split. All of those things had her more invested in Frank’s outcomes than she probably should be.

Sonya peered through the cracked door to Frank’s room only to find her wayward intern handing Frank… ice cream?

“How’d you get this?” Frank asked.

Trav chuckled. “Let’s just say it was tactically acquired.”

Sonya watched as Frank quietly accepted the cup of ice cream and immediately dug his spoon into it, while Trav flopped into the chair next to Frank’s bed and pulled out his own cup.

She was going to have to have a word with him. All of the professionalism and skill he’d displayed over the last few weeks had lowered her guard and now he was taking advantage by having a snack break with a patient.

She was about to go in there and do just that when Trav said, “You know, I never appreciated vanilla ice cream until Afghanistan. I used to be one of those guys who liked all the flavors and mix-ins, but the lucky days we got vanilla ice cream from the mess were as close to heaven as you could get.”

Frank didn’t look up from his cup, but his spoon paused on its journey to his mouth. “You’re ex-military? What branch?”

That question alone was enough to stop Sonya in her tracks. Frank was suffering from severe PTSD, and depression was currently his major presenting symptom. That and the substance abuse that kept landing him back in this bed. He’d shown little interest in anything when he was here, so the fact that he’d asked for more information was a step in the right direction.

“Army. 18 Delta,” Trav responded.

Frank sat up straighter in bed. “Special Forces… how long?”

“Fourteen years. Thought about reenlisting, but decided to take my chances out here. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice.”

“Why’s that?”

Trav shrugged and leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “It’s just… weird. When you enlist, they wipe you clean and then reboot you with only what you need to make it in that world. But out here… that can be too much and not enough all at the same time. Does that make sense?”

There was a long break as Frank seemed to ponder that before whispering, “Yeah.”

Frank looked like he was going to shut down, but Trav quickly asked, “You’re ex-Marines, right? How long were you in?”

Sonya smiled to herself, impressed with the way Trav was coaxing Frank into engaging in a way that, honestly, no one else on the floor could. It was the shared experience that Frank had latched on to, and if that had been Trav’s intention, maybe he should’ve followed in his father’s footsteps and become a doctor.

“I did twenty… eight tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

Trav released a low whistle. “I sometimes wonder how I made it out in one piece after three, but eight—you’re a goddamn hero.”

“I didn’t make it out in one piece,” Frank muttered. “If I did, I wouldn’t be in here.”

They’d entered into sensitive territory, and Sonya debated going in there to diffuse it so they could take this win without being forced a few steps backward right here at the end. Talking about his illness always initiated a shut down with Frank but there was a difference here. He’d brought it up, and the need to see where this could go kept her planted just outside the room.

Trav shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “No shame in getting help, my man. I’ve been talking to someone ever since I got out.”

Really?

Sonya leaned her shoulder against the wall as she processed Trav’s revelation. She’d been an advocate for providing mental health services to soldiers before they reached crisis ever since college, maybe even before that. Getting help early could’ve helped her dad better deal with the civilian world when got out of the Air Force. Maybe they could’ve helped him find something to ground him, maybe he wouldn’t have been so lost for so long. Most significantly, maybe it would’ve helped him not destroy his relationships with his family that they were still struggling to rebuild. Maybe instead of just having a father, she’d still have her dad.

Frank eyed him. “Yeah?”

Trav gave a single nod. “I’m learning that we’re always going to carry the things that happened to us over there around with us, so it’s not about making it go away. It’s about making it easier to carry.”

Yes!

That was exactly the right message and the fact that it had come out of her intern’s mouth had her beaming with pride. He was still annoying and he had a lot to learn, but maybe he wasn’t the lost cause she’d written him off as.

Maybe this could work.

“Did you find your intern yet, Sonya?”

She cursed Dr. Holbrook’s timing and nodded.

“Yes. Thanks, Amanda.”

“Looks like you’ve been caught loafing by your C.O.”, Frank whispered just as she pushed through the door.

Trav leapt to his feet, sending the chair he’d been sitting in tumbling over in the process. He fumbled picking it up on the first attempt, sending it clattering back to the tile floor and she thought she heard Frank snicker in the background. Did she really have this ex-army special forces soldier so shook that the mention of her turned him into a bumbling mess? It looked that way.

Biting her lip to hide the grin that idea had blossoming across her face, she advanced to Frank’s bedside. “How’s it going today, Frank? This guy isn’t bothering you, is he?”

Frank shook his head. “No, ma’am. We were just reminiscing about our days in service of this country.”

She hummed and picked up the empty ice cream cup from the nightstand.

“Over ice cream?” She glanced over at Trav who must be a terrible poker player because the guilt was written all over his face. For some reason, that added to the wave of affection that had started in the hallway. He really did have his moments. She pulled her gaze back to Frank. “I thought the dessert on Wednesdays was apple cobbler.”

Trav finally got the chair to stay upright and was standing straight as a board with his arms behind his back like he was waiting to be reamed out. “It was my idea, Nurse Pope. I broke the rules and it won’t happen again.”

“At ease, soldier. Ice cream is way better than apple cobbler.”

His eyes shot over to meet hers and the WTF was something else he couldn’t keep out of his expression. She turned her attention back to Frank because maybe she had a little bit of WTF for herself for letting him slide.

“Intern Travis is going to get you ready to go to group, and I expect a good report today. No sitting in the corner not participating or I’ll have to make sure ice cream gets harder to… tactically acquire.”

As Frank’s lips curved into something resembling a smile, Sonya’s heart squeezed. She’d only seen him smile a handful of times since he’d been admitted and most of them hadn’t been genuine. This one was, though, and it lit up his amber eyes and made him look a decade younger. This was what they were trying to do for him. This is what he was here trying to get back to for his wife and daughters.

If shooting the shit over ice cream made that happen, she couldn’t be mad about it.

“I’ll do my best, Nurse Sonya,” he agreed.

She gave Frank’s arm a supportive pat and looked back to Trav who still seemed a little stunned that he wasn’t in trouble.

“Group starts in ten minutes. Get rid of the ice cream evidence, escort our patient downstairs, and meet me at the nurse’s station when you’re done.”

Trav nodded. “Will do.”

She said goodbye to Frank and stepped out of the room, but not before she heard Frank say, “If she could make you do push ups, you’d be grabbing some real estate right about now.”

An amused chuckle tumbled out of Trav before he replied, “If she could, you’d be right there with me.”

* * *

Having to look for Trav had been a blessing in disguise because the time Sonya spent in the room with Frank turned out to be the only thing resembling a break until late in the afternoon. She’d hit the cafeteria just before it closed and grabbed the only salad they had left, but now that she was back in the break room, she realized that the salad was a bait and switch; green on top but brown and wilted underneath. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to go out and she was too hungry to remember if she had a protein bar hidden in her desk.

She blinked out of her misery when Trav flopped into the chair across from her. They’d been sharing a table for lunch recently, but usually they’d eat in silence as she read the news on her phone and he scrolled through his. They’d occasionally talk about their morning or what was on tap for the afternoon, but mostly they shared a comfortable silence that she appreciated. She wondered what had made him stop sitting with the gaggle of nurses who’d flocked around him that first week, but she didn’t ask. She also didn’t miss the disappointed looks on their faces every time he walked past their table to join hers.

“Is that what you’re eating for lunch? Again?” he asked.

What did he mean by again? Sure, she ate a lot of salads but she’d sometimes go wild and have a sandwich, so there was no predictability for him to latch on to.

Who was she kidding? Predictable, thy name is Sonya.

“Yeah, so?” Okay, so that could have come out slightly less bitchy but Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Unfazed, he continued inspecting her lunch. “It’s just that you’ve gotten a salad for lunch every day this week,” he observed.

“A salad is a healthy, perfectly balanced meal. It gives me protein from the chicken breast, carbs from the veggies, and some healthy fat from my olive oil vinaigrette.”

She sounded like a public service announcement, and even though the smile tugging at his lips said that he thought so too, he didn’t call her out on it.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with a salad unless it looks as sad as that one. The lettuce is wilted and turning brown, the croutons look stale, there are only two cucumber slices, the thinnest slice of tomato I’ve ever seen, and are you sure that’s chicken? It looks like tofu.”

“What’s wrong with tofu?”

“Nothing. Unless you're expecting it to be chicken. You’ve gotta admit that your salad looks like it was made by the Swedish chef.

Picturing the muppet making her salad drew a giggle out of her, but it turned into a groan when she accepted that he was right.

Annoyed, she dropped her fork in the bowl and pushed it away from her.

“It was the last salad and they were out of sandwiches too. Nothing else looked appealing.”

“I get it. Any cafeteria food reminds me of military food,” he admitted. “And now you know why I bring my lunch every day.”

She glanced over at the steaming bowl of whatever he was about to dig into. It looked like leftovers from his dinner the night before, and she had to give him credit for putting it into an actual food storage container instead of keeping it in the styrofoam from the restaurant.

“Your lunch definitely looks more appealing,” she grumbled.

“Do you want some?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not taking your lunch.”

“I’ve got more than enough. I was running late this morning and, not wanting to endure your wrath, I just grabbed the entire container instead of separating it out.”

“I’ll be fine,” she began, but Trav stood up and grabbed her salad. “What are you doing?”

He dumped the salad into the trash and grabbed an empty styrofoam bowl and plastic fork from the cabinet before returning to his seat. Without a word, he emptied half of his meal into the bowl and slid it across the table to her with the fork.

“I told you I’m fine. I can just grab a protein bar or something,” she argued, but it didn’t even sound convincing to herself. The food in front of her looked so good that it made her tummy rumble. If she had the nerve to eat a protein bar after teasing herself with that, her body might full-on revolt.

“I already divided it up so you might as well eat it,” he reasoned. “Besides, you’ll need more than a protein bar to have the energy to bust my balls all afternoon.”

Ignoring the way he was watching her and grinning, she picked up the fork and stirred the food around in the bowl.

“What is it?” she asked, not that it mattered. The spicy scent of cumin, garlic, and roasted meat already had her mouth watering.

He tore his tortilla in half and handed it to her.

“Chipotle chicken with chorizo. It’s one of my favorites.”

She filled her fork with the shredded chicken, making sure to spear a few chunks of carrots, tomatoes, chorizo, and onions, and dragged it through the thick, red sauce. The first bite made her moan in appreciation and she closed her eyes and savored the flavors of the dish coming together on her tongue. It tasted like the spring break trip to Cozumel she’d taken with the girls in college. All she needed was a margarita to complete the perfection of that one bite.

When she opened her eyes, she found his trained on her with an intensity that she wasn’t expecting. He was probably waiting for her to say something about the food but he should know from her reaction that it was delicious.

Why was he so invested in her reaction? Having good taste in restaurants was nothing to write home about.

“This is really good,” she finally offered after swallowing the food in her mouth.

He blinked a few times before shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. “I told you so,” he mumbled, before digging back into his own plate.

“Where is it from?” Cat would absolutely love this dish and she was already planning their next girls night catered by whatever restaurant it came from.

His eyebrows were pinched when he looked up at her. “My kitchen?”

She rolled her eyes. Everything had been going so well so she should’ve known that he’d ruin it by being annoying. She was still euphoric over the food so she kept her sarcasm at bay.

“I mean, where did you order it from?”

Understanding dawned on him and he grinned.

“Oh. It’s not takeout. I made it,” he said, punctuating his outlandish statement with a wink, and the laugh was out of her before she could even think about containing it.

“That’s funny, but seriously. Where did you get it?”

“You don’t believe I can cook?” he fired back, still grinning at her between bites of chicken.

“I don’t believe you can cook like this.”

“Well, I can,” he argued, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “Being in Afghanistan limited me from doing it for a while, but now that I’ve got my own kitchen, I cook all the time.”

Was he actually telling the truth about cooking the food that she was literally thinking about licking the bowl after she finished eating? She tried to read him for any sign of deceit, but found none. There was only amusement dancing in his baby blues.

She took a few more bites of her food before asking, “Really?”

He shrugged. “A man’s gotta eat and cooking is way cheaper than takeout.”

There was no way she could let it go at that.

“Where’d you learn to cook like this, though? This is… freaking delicious,” she gushed, not the least bit ashamed of the awe in her voice.

His cheeks reddened and he stared down at his bowl like he wasn’t used to the compliment. That couldn’t be right, though. He’d probably ridden his ability to seduce a woman’s taste buds, from the kitchen, right into plenty of bedrooms.

“Thanks,” he said. “My mom taught me. Actually, she’s my stepmom. My mom died when I was a baby, so Marielle is the only mom I’ve ever known. I used to spend every afternoon helping her in the kitchen. I guess I picked up a few things. Do you cook?”

“I do when I have time.” She winced. “Which means I pretty much live on hospital food and takeout except on my days off.”

“I’ve noticed. Starbucks every morning, turkey sandwiches or salads every day at lunch, a protein bar or an apple in the afternoon, and three Mr. Goodbar miniatures when you think no one’s looking.” His smile quickly faded and his eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I tend to notice patterns and routines and I forget how creepy that makes me sound.”

Her cheeks went warm. Pretending that his read of her wasn’t unsettling, she said, “It’s fine. If being next level creepy is how you win friends and influence people, who am I to judge?”

“Wait. Hold up. Was that… a joke? Are we friends now, Nurse Pope?”

She wanted to laugh at the exaggerated shock playing out on his face, but instead she stood and gathered her trash from the table.

“We are going back to work because our lunch break is over,” she replied, but it was hard to be as stern as she usually was with him. “…and we’ve been working together almost a month now. You can call me Sonya.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face and she had to look away because it was practically infectious. It made her cheeks feel warm all over again. She took a deep breath and pushed the implications of that ridiculous reaction away before looking back to him.

“If I’d known feeding you was all it was gonna take for you to change your mind about me, I’d have done it day one.”

“Don’t ruin it by being cocky, Intern Travis,” she warned. “Also, thank you for sharing your lunch with me.”

That grin grew impossibly wider and he nodded. “You’re welcome, and since we’re friends now, you can call me Trav… Sonya.”

They walked side by side out of the break room and toward the elevators, and the entire time she tried to ignore how much she liked hearing her name on his lips.