The Exception by Lauren H. Mae
Thirty-five
Sonya left early the next morning, the spot on Trav’s new mattress that had only ever belonged to her left cold and smelling like vanilla. Trav rolled over and pressed his face into her pillow, fighting the urge to waste the morning in that same position.
It was his first day off in weeks and a part of him actually wished it was a hospital day so they wouldn’t have to spend the day apart.
He laughed at himself. He was fucking gone over this woman.
He squeezed open an eyelid to check the time, wondering if it would be too obvious if he dropped off some leftovers at the front desk for her lunch. It would be, and he wouldn’t do it, but he did do a mental countdown of the days until they could quit sneaking around. The first time in his life that he’d actually felt something for a woman and he had to spend ninety-percent of his time pretending he didn’t.
After a shower and shave, Trav found himself reading the same page of a textbook for the fifth time and decided homework was out for the day too. It wasn’t just that he was lonely and bored, though that was a big part of it. His mind mulled over another worry in its back corners.
Last night, he’d told Sonya that there was nothing else she could do for Frank, and he’d meant it. Professionally, their hands were tied. He couldn’t bear the thought of her beating herself up over it, though, and he also couldn’t shake the feeling that, for him, it wasn’t as cut and dry.
He recognized the look in Frank’s eyes when he’d bailed on his treatment plan. Defiance mixed with resignation. Frank was in the middle of the worst kind of weak moment, the kind where you’ve fooled yourself into thinking it’s a strong one. Trav had been in that place. He knew what it was like to convince yourself that your inner demons might just know what’s right for you after all. Or at the very least, that the battle was too lopsided to keep up the fight.
And his demons looked a lot like Frank’s.
He closed his book and pushed away from the kitchen island, his restlessness manifesting into the kind of pacing that used to drive his bunkmates crazy. Last night the hopelessness in Sonya’s eyes had stuck with him long after they’d shifted from talking about Frank to enjoying each other’s company. It still nagged at him today. And so did the feeling that he, unlike her, could do something about it and was choosing not to.
Could Frank tell him to fuck off if he tried? For sure, and to be honest it would sting if he did. But Trav’s gut told him he couldn’t make it worse, and that was enough incentive to try and make it better.
* * *
Rain pelted Trav’s face as he rapped a knuckle on apartment 124. He’d texted the friend of a friend of Mike’s who’d given him the name of the local veteran’s service when Trav had decided to move back. A few rounds of phone tag and he’d been able to figure out where Frank was staying.
The halfway house had separate entrances for each occupant, which probably helped in the transition to autonomy, but it sure wasn’t helpful in tracking someone down. Frank could be in there right now, hidden behind a doorway, waiting for Trav to get fed up and leave.
In fact, it was more than likely given the brown and gold station wagon parked in the numbered spot.
“Frank,” he called over the steady noise of the rain. “Look, man, I’m not here to give you a hard time. I’m not even on duty, see?” He reluctantly unzipped his jacket, showing his t-shirt to the window next to the door.
Silence, other than a far-off rumble of thunder. When Trav’s jeans had soaked through, he was about to go back to his car to wait Frank out from the comfort of his heated seats. But the door swung open, stopping him.
Frank looked like shit. The bags under his eyes had darkened and he hadn’t shaved in days.
He gave Trav a once over, matching the inspection. “You’re dressed like a punk,” he spit. “Don’t that school of yours have a dress code?”
Trav fought a triumphant grin, biting the inside of his cheek as he stepped past Frank into the one room apartment dressed all in beige. “You were just gonna let me catch pneumonia out there, you stubborn ass?”
“Now I know you ain’t making sanctioned house calls. Pope would have your ass for talking to me like that.”
Guilt tripped up Trav’s pulse. He wasn’t going to deny that Sonya would not approve of this mission, nor that he’d purposely ignored her last text so that he wouldn’t have to lie directly. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on an empty coat rack. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Look at you, defying orders.” Frank poked a threatening finger at the outline of Trav’s dog tags beneath his wet shirt. “Wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“Go ahead. Bust my balls. I have no power outside of that hospital. Shit, I guess I don’t have any there either or we’d be having this conversation in your room instead of here.”
They stared at each other for three ticks of the institutional-style wall clock hanging over Frank’s stove, both holding their ground. Finally, Trav broke the standoff. “We both know you outrank me, so throw me out if you’re gonna, or make me a cup of coffee and talk to me for a bit. Doesn’t look like you have much else to do.”
Frank’s throat worked under the thick stubble, and he gave a barely-there nod.
Trav helped himself to a kitchen chair while the older man got down two mugs. “So that was quite the scene the other day.”
Frank shot a look over his shoulder, then went back to the coffee grounds. “You say so. I say it was a bunch of sparkling clean white coats telling me how to deal with a mess.” He pointed to his temple.
“Maybe you oughta look at it like their specialty versus yours. Have a little respect.”
“This some tough love bullshit?”
“Maybe.” Trav leaned back in his chair, trying to look casual, like he was really just there for coffee. “Look, I get it. It’s hard to look someone in the eye who has no fucking idea what it’s like and take orders from them. But me and you, we see things through the same glasses. I’m telling you you’re making a mistake. You’re about to leave your team and storm off solo. We both know that’s not a good idea.”
“My team.” Frank scoffed. “I wouldn’t follow any of those assholes anywhere.”
“You listen to Sonya.”
Frank cocked an eyebrow.
“Nurse Pope.”
“Not counting her,” he mumbled.
“She wouldn’t like you here by yourself, Frank. The treatment plan you were on was her doing. She fought for you more than once, but here you are thinking you know better.”
Frank was visibly uncomfortable as he poured coffee into the mugs. His shoulders hung heavier already. “No disrespect to her or you, kid. But I already lost the people who cared about me. There’s not much left to salvage. Just leave me be.”
Trav nodded. That kind of thinking was so familiar to him, it burned the back of his throat. It was the kind of fuck it all attitude that had pushed Trav to join the military, that and the fact that he was out of options. He and Frank were walking identical paths, just inverted. For Trav, going in was the steepest step. For Frank, it was getting out. And Trav knew all too well how much easier it was to fall down than up.
“Look, Frank, all I’m saying is it doesn’t have to be this way. You feel like you lost some solid ground and I get that, you know I do. But you’re looking in the wrong places to find your footing. You’re trusting the wrong voice. You have a fight ahead of you, but your doctors and I, we’re not the enemy. Nurse Pope’s not.”
Frank leaned against the counter, silently sipping from his mug. Trav hadn’t seen him slip anything in besides the coffee, and he’d watched, so he counted that as a win.
He decided to push through the silence. “I’m asking you to do me a favor, if I’m honest. I need somewhere to hide from Nurse Pope when she’s on my ass.” The mistruth in that was almost comical, but Frank didn’t need to know that. “You know, they’ve got someone new in your room and he’s not as fond of my jokes. I flat out refuse to get him ice cream.”
Frank didn’t laugh, but his posture changed—Trav thought for the better. “All I can tell you is I’ll think about it,” he said.
“Then that’s all I’ll ask.”