Page 13 of The Exception

That will show him to come in here cocky as the star quarterback at homecoming.

“Ouch! You’re gonna blow my vein, kid.” Ms. Wesley swatted at him, and to his credit, he dodged her frail hand without dropping the IV. “How long are you going to let him torture me, Nurse Pope?”

Sonya shot her patient agotchalook. The woman had been an inpatient there on several occasions. She suffered from schizophrenia and substance abuse, and each time she was admitted, she pretended she didn’t recognize any of the staff who knew her well. But she always lost the ruse by accidentally calling them by name.

Ms. Wesley turned away and began having a conversation about Intern Travis’s “slippery hands” with someone only she could see. That seemed to rattle him more.

Sonya stepped to her intern’s side, lifting Ms. Wesley’s arm, rail thin and wrinkled. “They’re not all twenty-something dudes who’ve recently passed a fitness test. This is a whole new ballgame, whether you admit it or not.”

He nodded, looking for the first time like he might be ready to admit defeat. “Her vein is rolling,” he said.

“And your angle is wrong.” She took the IV from him, showing him. “Thirty degrees or less. Always.” He nodded and reached for the needle, but she shook her head. “Sorry but three times is my limit. You’ll get another chance.”

“Thank God,” Ms. Wesley huffed. She turned to her invisible friend and pointed to her head. “He’s handsome, but not too quick.”

“That’s enough,” Sonya said, releasing the tourniquet and taping the IV line in place.

Trav pulled off his gloves and ran a hand through his hair.

She gestured for him to clean up the IV kit, patting his shoulder as she left him. “Better luck next time, soldier.”

* * *

Well, that went worse than he anticipated. Trav dug a pair of running shorts out of the gym bag he’d shoved in his locker this morning, before Nurse Pope had started his day with an ass-chewing. It’s not that he expected it to go well, given the rocky start to their relationship, but it was clear to him now that when he’d reminded her this was her opportunity to pay him back, she’d taken it seriously.

He folded his scrubs, laying them neatly on the top of his locker, and sat on a bench to lace up his sneakers. The hospital had a series of trails behind it that a lot of the staff used for running, and he needed to break a good sweat to work off some of this tension.

He’d hated running before boot camp. Funny how the different phases of your life change you. Now he looked forward to the chance to push himself to his limits, the only competition being his own discomfort.

He was pulling on a t-shirt when the other student intern on rotation came into the locker room, dropping his backpack with a huff.

“Hey, man.” Trav raised a hand over his shoulder. “Rough first day?”

Elliot was late-twenties, a few years younger than Trav but older than the rest of the barely-legal kids in his class. Trav had made a mental note at orientation to introduce himself. Maybe they could grab a beer or something. Bond over the shared misery of being the two old guys.

Elliot raised an eyebrow and gave a chuckle Trav wasn’t completely sure wasn’t meant to be condescending. “This isn’t the first day of kindergarten,” he said. “I didn’t expect it to be easy.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Trav ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. It was a habit he’d all but broken when his hair was buzzed, but it seemed like that nervous tic was back full force. “How’s your preceptor?”

“Professional.”

“Cool.” So Elliot wasn’t a conversationalist. That was fine. He’d dealt with his share of stoic grunts that passed for replies. He’d never had a problem carrying a conversation. That was partly how he’d climbed the ranks so quickly—his ability to relate to the other guys, get them to open up.

“Mine’s a hard ass, man,” he said, whistling. “I’ll be lucky if I make it through the semester with my balls intact.”

Elliot opened his locker and pulled out a light jacket, shrugging it on while he looked Trav up and down. “Look, I don’t know if you were hoping for a pal to gossip with, but I didn’t make it this far to get dragged down by someone else’s unprofessionalism. If you want to vent, call one of your girlfriends.”

Okay, so Elliot’s a dick.

“I wasn’t gossiping—”

“This is a competitive internship. If you can’t hack it, maybe bow out so someone else can take your slot.” Elliot closed his locker and slipped on his back pack. “Good luck,” he said, leaving Trav alone.

What the fuck was that?

Adrenaline pumped through him. Part of him wanted to follow that little shit and give him his own speech about not being an asshat, but another part wondered if Elliot was right. Maybe he couldn’t hack it. He was standing in the locker room, chest tight and hands shaking because of what amounted to a bad day at school.

Wouldn’t that be something, to come home from a literal warzone only to be taken out by a pretty nurse and a tough course load?

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