The Exception by Lauren H. Mae
Thirty-three
After an eight-mile run at the gym and a stop at his new favorite take-out joint, Trav was carrying his dinner to his front door when his phone rang.
His heart turned into a ping pong ball in his chest. He’d been debating for the last hour whether he should call Sonya and apologize—not if, actually. When. But maybe she’d beat him to it.
He shuffled his food into one hand and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. And his shoulders dropped.
He’d never be disappointed to see Marielle’s name on his phone, but it was a different kind of happy.
“Hey.”
Marielle tutted. “You ‘hey’ me now?”
Trav snickered and changed his voice. “Madrecita! It’s a beautiful night to hear your voice.”
“That’s better. Why are you snipping into the phone?”
He unlocked his door, holding the phone with his shoulder. “I wasn’t snipping.”
“You were.”
A stretch of silence like a game of chicken fell between them while he put his things on the counter and kicked off his sneakers. “My day wasn’t great.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, mijo. Is this to do with your father?”
Any woman who’d put up with Jack Travis long enough knew the tell-tale signs of an altercation with him. For Trav, it had always been brooding. And today he’d taken it too far.
“It started out that way. I made it something else.”
“Mmm. This is a thing you do.”
He sighed. “Yes it is.”
“People only have power over us when we invite them to stay in the rooms in our brain. Your rooms are always open to him, Trav, and though we all know he has the funds, he never pays you for his stay.”
Trav leaned on the counter and rubbed at his temple. That was true, and today it had cost him extra.
“It’s just running into him at work. Even when I keep my nose down, he seeks me out just to put me down.” Anger bubbled again in his chest and he clenched his jaw, knowing that anger was for himself. “Tonight I made that someone else’s problem.”
“Who is this someone else?”
“A woman.”
Marielle faked a dramatic gasp, and Trav laughed. “I suppose I will be getting the details on this soon, but mijo, Jack Travis has a line of women he’s made regret meeting him. Don’t add yours to the list.”
“You’re right.”
“I am always.”
“Is that why you called? To give me advice you didn’t even know I needed?”
“Of course not. I called to get your address so I could send you some cookbooks and a few other things.”
Trav laughed and shook his head. “You know they have this thing called the internet now. Cookbooks are kind of obsolete.”
“I’ll ignore that, and you’ll give me your address.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He rattled off the address, promised again to send photos of his place, then said goodnight.
He was sure he’d gotten out of giving Marielle the details about Sonya when his phone rang again. “I didn’t give her enough credit,” he mumbled, expecting to see that Marielle remembered and called back. But this time when he looked at the ID, his surprise was the reverse.
“Hi,” he answered.
Sonya replied, “I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
“Of course I would.” His stomach sank. “Hey, I’m—”
“I’m outside,” she said. “I figured I’d see if you answered the phone first before I—”
He dropped the phone on his new coffee table and rushed to the door. She gave him a weak smile when he opened it, her fingers twisting in the hem of the light jacket she wore. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Relief was the only thing on his mind when he reached for her wrist, pulling her against his chest.
She chuckled into his shirt. “I also wasn’t sure if I’d get a hug. Does this mean you forgive me?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her forehead, her cheek. “I was a jerk. I’ve been wanting to call you and apologize.”
“I’m sorry too. I was dismissive and I overreacted.” She freed one of her arms and handed him a small paper bag. “Since I owe you like a hundred meals, I stopped by the cafeteria on my way out and bought you this.”
Trav peeked in to see a day-old salad in worse shape than the one she’d had that day he started cooking for her. They laughed together. “You know this doesn’t count as one of the meals you owe me.”
“What? Why not?”
He slipped his hand into hers, pulling her into his condo and closing the door behind her. “Because you didn’t cook it.” He stepped closer, trapping her against the door.
She pinched his chin, tugging his lips to hers. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked, tossing the bag onto the floor.
“Let’s make up.”
* * *
“I want you to know something,” Trav said.
They were laying in his new bed, the light from the city streaming in through the open blinds. Sonya rolled toward him, her fingers tangling in the chain that held his dog tags. “What do you want me to know?”
He blew out a breath, trying to figure out how he was going to say what he wanted to get off his chest. He’d been thinking a lot about the way he reacted to this whole thing. And the way Marielle had reminded him that it was familiar.
“You know how my dad’s not exactly thrilled about me doing my internship at his hospital.”
She snorted. “You know it’s not his hospital, Trav. No matter how big a deal he thinks he is.”
“I know. But I guess that’s sort of the thing. He’s always been really careful about where he decides to, I don’t know, claim me. I’m his son when it’s convenient for him. When he gets something out of it. But the rough parts, he wants nothing to do with that.”
She tilted her head, looking up at him with her big brown eyes. “What rough parts?”
“When I was a kid, high school, I wasn’t exactly the model son of a prominent doctor. I got into some trouble and he’s never let me forget it.” He swallowed and shifted his eyes to the ceiling. He’d accepted his past a long time ago, but for some reason telling Sonya about this night made him nervous. It wasn’t just at work where he didn’t want to disappoint her. “My senior year, my dad was getting this award. He’d donated a lot of money to this humanitarian organization. That was the extent of it—a check—but they wanted to honor him like some big hero. I’ve met heroes since then. He’s the furthest thing from a hero.”
Trav’s face began to burn with a decades-old anger, his jaw tightening. He forced himself to look at Sonya, and when he didn’t see any judgment in her eyes, he continued.
“We’d been treading a line for a while with the shit my friends and I were pulling, but this… this was the worst. The night of the ceremony, I was mouthing off about what a fake my dad was, how he didn’t deserve any of those accolades. Well, you know how things snowball—bunch of angry kids with smuggled beer, egging each other on. We ended up outside of the hall with a few cans of spray paint. Tagged the door, the front of the building… a couple cars.” He took a breath, embarrassment creeping in. “We weren’t smart enough to cover our tracks, geniuses that we were, and the cops were at my door that same night.”
Sonya nodded, twisting her fingers in his. “What happened?”
He laughed humorlessly. “A lot. My dad threw his weight around, got me out of it with just community service, but he wasn’t about to use his good name to get me into V-Tech like he’d planned. My college dreams were gone, so I joined the army. It was Marielle’s idea, and it saved my life in a lot of ways.
“Anyway, since that night, I’ve always felt like there were some parts of my dad’s life where I was allowed to go, and some I wasn’t. I guess I’m always waiting for people to see what he sees.”
“That’s not what I see,” she said.
He smiled. “I promise I’m not trying to give you some sob story to get out of my part in this. I know it’s not the same. You’re right about being careful at work and I’ll be better.”
“And I’ll be better about the way I express myself. It’s not that I don’t care. I care a lot.” Sonya was quiet for a while, her cheek pressed to his chest and her quiet breathing filling up the room. Finally she tightened her arm around his waist, squeezing. “I’m glad you told me.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice shaky. “I’m glad I told you too.”
For the first time in his life, he’d told that story and felt better at the end of it instead of worse.