The Exception by Lauren H. Mae

Eighteen

Trav pulled at his tie, wedging his index finger inside the knot to loosen it again. When was the last time he’d had to wear one of these things? He couldn’t remember, but by the look his father was giving him, he’d clearly forgotten the right way to act when dressed in a suit.

It wasn’t just the outfit that had him antsy. The place was too loud and he didn’t particularly like sitting in the middle of this big open room with his back to the open air. Some guys had a real problem with scenes like this when they got home—crowds, dim lighting that made it hard to see faces until they were right in your space. He was thankful that his reaction to them was just discomfort instead of being triggered into something worse the way Frank was.

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t counting the minutes until he could find somewhere else to be.

The real Doctor Travis cleared his throat and Trav straightened in his seat. As a lowly intern, his invite to this event was just a nicety that he’d planned on politely declining, but his father had made it clear that, though it may not be a professional requirement, it was a familial one. Apparently Jack Travis had gotten wind that Trav wasn’t totally fucking this whole Paramedic School thing up, so he was trying on a new hat: proud father. At least in public.

Shelly pressed her hand to Trav’s forearm, the huge rock on her finger cutting a prism straight into his eye. “How’s your internship going, Ben?”

“It’s Trav,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his Instagram. He was being an ass but he’d told her that approximately seventy-two times and he was sure each time he corrected her, his father swooped in behind to warn her not to oblige. “And it’s fine.”

He covered a yawn with the back of his hand. This dim light and string band was lulling him to sleep.

Of course his father saw. “Are we boring you, Ben?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been at the hospital or in class every waking minute. I could have caught some sleep tonight if you hadn’t insisted I be here.”

“This is what you don’t understand, son.”

Trav almost laughed out loud at the endearment. Everything his father did was for show and if Shelly hadn’t been sitting there beaming at his Good Dad act, this lecture would have a much different tone.

“You may not have to be here in order to get your grade, but look around you. Every administrator at the hospital is here tonight. While your colleagues are enjoying a pint out of a dirty glass at one of the pubs downtown, your face will be the one these people remember. Rise above the pack, that’s what I always say.” He turned to Shelly and gave her a smug smile, seemingly very proud of himself for that platitude.

What Trav wouldn’t give to be drinking beer out of a dirty glass right now. Though drinking alone in a new place wasn’t much more appealing than sitting here. He was a decade older than most of the kids in his courses, so they didn’t tend to invite him to their weekends.

He made yet another mental note to try and make some friends. His first attempt had died on impact, and fraternizing with people his own age wasn’t easy when he spent most of his time at work or with his nose in a book. In the army, they had no choice but to buddy up. It was like a buffet of social interaction. How did a grown-ass adult make friends in the civilian world?

However it worked, he was going to have to move it up to the top of the list because he was sick of shit like this and his own thoughts being the only entertainment he had.

Christ. What a sorry son of a bitch he was tonight.

He tipped his champagne flute to his old man in a mock toast to his pseudo-wisdom and gazed vacantly around the room. Until his eyes caught on the one person who might make this night worth it.

Sonya had avoided his question about tonight with a vague reply in the stairwell, but there she was, walking through the door in a little black dress and heels, annnd his dick was standing at attention again.

He really needed to cut this shit out, but damn if she didn’t look gorgeous. Her long legs looked unreal in those heels and she’d worn her hair down except for a few braids twisted back to frame the face that haunted his dreams. She had diamonds in her ears, and if he didn’t know she was his tough as nails nurse preceptor by day, he’d have sworn she belonged on the cover of some couture fashion magazine.

He tossed back the rest of his champagne and let his father’s voice drone on in the background as he settled in to enjoy the view.

Cue improper thoughts about his preceptor in 3, 2, 1…

* * *

If she’d really taken the time to imagine how walking into this event alone would feel, Sonya might have pretended she didn’t get the invite in the mail. The click of her heels sounded too loud to her own ear as she crossed the ballroom, glancing at the table assignment clutched in her hand. The entire event was made for couples. Low light, soft music, plenty of booze. Why hadn’t she taken Dani’s advice and hired an escort for the night?

Right. Because she’s not Dani and that would have been awkward as hell. Cat and Emma had both offered up their husbands, which was sweet considering they’d be left home alone with young kids on a Saturday night if Sonya had made Josh or Adam come with her, but embarrassment was a stronger weight than guilt. Showing up with a paid fake date was one thing (even though that was never an actual option) but borrowing your friend’s man was somewhere between desperation and rock bottom.

Sonya was only swimming upward from now on, even if it meant dodging pity looks all night.

She spotted her table, but instead of taking a seat, she made a hard right to the bar and ordered a martini. She needed something stronger than her usual wine, and now she’d have something to do with that left hand everyone kept staring at.

Okay, maybe she was imagining the collective stares of the entire room. She wasn’t vain enough to consider herself the topic of everyone’s conversation, but there were a lot of people here who she didn’t see on a regular basis and it was bound to come up. She was just preparing. With vodka.

As she wove her way through the tables, she spotted one pair of eyes that she definitely wasn’t imagining a stare from.

Trav was a few tables away, seated next to his father and a woman who Sonya assumed was Dr. Travis’s wife, given her fur stole and ostentatious jewelry.

Trav’s mouth tipped into a grin as he watched her swerve around a tuxedo, and she smiled and waved.

He didn’t look away, and she gave him a what?! look.

He only chuckled.

Weirdo.

Table six belonged—thank God—to Abi and her husband, Amanda from Med Surge who Sonya sometimes went to happy hour with, her date. And Sonya.

There was an empty chair and she leaned in to see who the sixth spot belonged to, hoping it would be someone interesting and maybe another dateless person so she wouldn’t feel so alone. But when she glanced at the name at the place setting beside her, her jaw practically unhinged.

What in the everloving hell...

She’d specifically emailed the coordinator of this event to let her know her plus one wasn’t coming. She’d been very clear in her instructions to take Marcus off the list. She’d taken meticulous care with this to avoid this very scenario and errrr. Wasn’t anyone proficient in their job?

Fingers shaking around the stem of her martini glass, she slid into her chair, ignoring the gold calligraphy screaming at her from the next place over. Would it be gauche to tear the little card into pieces and stomp on them with her stiletto?

To her utter humiliation, she actually felt the corners of her eyes begin to burn. For God’s sake. This is the last thing I need.

“Sonya,” Amanda greeted, oblivious to the fire burning behind Sonya’s eyes. “You look amazing. Where’s—”

Whatever had just happened on Sonya’s face without her permission stopped Amanda mid sentence.

She gulped her water and waved a hand in the air. “Nevermind. It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” She was vaguely aware of being introduced to Amanda’s date, then she went through the motions of making small talk with Abi. By the time the band started up, and both women dragged their men to the dance floor, Sonya felt a headache brewing. Probably the vodka. She should get more to fend it off.

She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the table, pushing her chair back, but it clunked into a solid mass.

“Ouch.”

She looked up to see Trav looming over her, a smile on his lips. Somewhere in her chest, a little pressure released and it took her by surprise. She was relieved to see him. She had no idea how much she needed his silly grin until it was right in front of her.

He dropped into the seat beside her, Marcus’s seat, and gave the place card a cursory glance before tossing it over his shoulder and replacing it with the one he’d taken from his own table.

Her jaw unhinged again.

That was cathartic, even second hand.

“Good evening,” she said.

Why the hell was she talking like a guest at a royal ball?

He laughed. “Good evening, Madame.”

She ducked her head and smiled. “Sorry. Formal night.”

Trav pushed his elbow into her side and a jolt of electricity shot into her belly, startling her. Her nerves were clearly on high alert. She cleared her throat and let her eyes fall from his face to his outfit—dark suit, tailored, powder blue dress shirt with a matching handkerchief in the breast pocket. He’d even taken the time to shape his usually messy hair into a dapper part, though she had the silly urge to mess it back up.

He looked… really good. And she was just happy enough to have a friend to talk to that she decided to tell him so. “You clean up nice, soldier,” she said, careful to keep her voice light despite that little dip in her belly when she noticed the knot on his tie was already loosened.

The tips of his ears turned pink at the compliment, and she was simultaneously baffled and softened. Trav blushing. Who woulda thought?

“No date tonight?” she asked. For reasons she absolutely could not fathom, her stomach twisted at her own question.

“Nah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He rested his ankle on his knee. “I’m too nice of a guy to subject a woman to dinner with my father.”

She laughed. She could definitely attest to the drag that dinner with Jack Travis would be. She turned over her shoulder to see the man engaged in a boisterous discussion with the head heart surgeon, while his poor wife twisted her napkin on her lap, looking bored to tears.

“Is that your step-mother?” she asked, pointing to the woman.

“No.” Trav’s answer was clipped and she knew she’d hit on something unpleasant, so she switched gears.

“The buffet looks good—”

“You want to get out of here?”

“What?”

He held a hand up, his ears pink again. “I mean, not the way that sounded… I just mean, this kinda sucks and we’ve already been seen, so do we really have to stay? Let’s go get a beer out of a dirty glass.”

“Ew. Why would you drink out of a—”

He pushed his chair back and stood, offering his hand. “I don’t know the area, so your choice. I’ll even drive. You look like you could use another vodka or seven.”

He looked nervous, antsy like he was about to turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something. She wondered what it was that had him so uncomfortable.

“Please?” he asked, flashing those damn blue eyes that she was still trying to build up immunity to.

Sonya glanced at his big hand hovering near her face and swallowed. This did kind of suck.

And she did need another drink.

And if she stared at that empty chair for one more minute, she’d lose it.

Fine. Appearances be damned. He was right, she’d earned an early escape. Ignoring his hand, she stood and tucked her clutch under her arm, then straightened her dress. “Okay,” she said. “I’m in, and I know a place.”