by Pandora Snow
Ian
M.E.D.I.C.S.
Book 4
Pandora Snow
Copyright @ 2020
Exclusive Amazon Release
Cyrus– M.E.D.I.C.S. Book 5
She was on her hands and knees when I first kissed her. To create everlasting love, we’ll need to survive a traitor, a liar, and a thief. One of those three is her father.
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CHAPTER ONE
Fear courses through my veins, the deafening sound of gunfire overwhelming my senses. I kiss Sarah's faded picture as I roll onto the unforgiving dirt floor and underneath my bunk. As I crawl forward, I strap on my M-16 and Unit One Pack, kicking up dust in my exhausted face. I'm nearing the infirmary entrance as the all-clear command is issued. Sergeant Hayes looks over and points me to the supply cabinet, calling out for intravenous lines and Propofol. He's already preparing for surgery as I reach Private Hampton. He's not going to make it.
SIX MONTHS LATER
"Mom, please!" My well-intentioned mother is attempting to wipe the spicy marinara sauce off the side of my dirty mouth. At least she didn't lick the napkin first. Sarah looks kindly over at me and smiles, reminding me to swallow some patience.
Since returning from Iraq, my smother has treated me like I'm still six years old. I can't fault her for the overbearing behavior, and I can't deny her heartfelt caring. Losing Jake took years from her life; I'm all she has.
My older brother, Jake, was killed five years ago while serving as a Staff Sergeant, somewhere in Iraq. His sudden death was the reason I enlisted in the army and committed to a grueling four-year term as a Combat Medic. Honoring his life by serving our country was precisely what he would have wanted me to do.
My inconsolable devastated mother came dangerously close to a nervous breakdown as I shipped off. If not for Sarah's compassionate, steady presence, she would have lost her mind. The heaping of guilt my mom dished out when I told her I'd signed up for duty penetrated my psyche for months. The disgrace of failing to honor my brother's legacy would have lasted a lifetime.
"Let me get those," Sarah offers, standing to clear our plates. I watch her plump behind as her hips sway back and forth to the dated kitchen. I'm a damn lucky man to have such an enthralling fiancé.
Couple that with her unconditional kindness and honesty, there's no sweeter woman on earth to have and to hold, til death do us part.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" Mom asks before we've even walked out of the front door.
"We'll come over mid-week for dinner. The next few days at work will be hectic. I'm managing month-end inventory."
"Alright then," she says, a hint of sadness in her voice.
"If I hear back from the caterer tomorrow, I'll call you. She's trying to convince me we need an elaborate wedding cake and a cupcake tower. Maybe we can taste test the flavors next weekend." Sarah to the rescue.
"I would love that!" mom beams, giving my resourceful fiancé a warm embrace. I'm growing impatient to get my pending bride home. She deserves to be rewarded for her negotiation skills.
"Goodnight, Beverly," Sarah says, weaving my hand in hers. The smoldering look she gives me indicates she can't wait to be the recipient of my physical appreciation.
As soon as I start the dependable engine of my Toyota Tacoma, she sets her left hand on my thigh, squeezing gently. The faster I begin to drive, the tighter her grip on my twitching leg. We're at full highway speed now, sixty-five, and she's pulsing her finger's pads along my anxious cock. Sarah has the ability to rev my engine in any circumstance, this evening no exception. As desperate as I am to release my stress from dinner with a hot fast orgasm, her safety is a non-negotiable factor.
"Sarah, stop!" I plead, unable to properly concentrate on driving my truck in a straight line. Apparently, she's more anxious than I am to practice for the all-important honeymoon.
My right hand begrudgingly grasps her fingers, and I set our hands on her left thigh, fully intending to keep them in place until we arrive home. Ten short minutes, I can make it.
She smiles sweetly at me, a little too sweetly, and releases my hand. Traffic is light, the urge to speed strong. I begin rubbing her leg methodically, the hem of her soft dress sliding high. Eight minutes, I can hold out eight minutes if I maintain this pace.
I don't feel her fingers against mine as I glance down to ogle her soft, smooth skin. My ready cock lurches against my boxers as I see her delicate fingers caressing her wet clit, lace panties pushed aside.
"Fuck, Sarah, please!" I breathe harshly, feeling my eyes becoming unfocused. I veer off at the next exit, my gunsight darting around for an empty private spot. There's a small parking area near a group of towering pine trees. I throw the truck into park and kill the ignition.
She's incinerating my resistance with her lustful eyes, reaching over to unzip my jeans and free my throbbing cock. Pleasuring herself dampened her slick folds, my hands wasting no time grabbing her to straddle my lap.
"You're a bad girl, Sarah James," I breathe against her luscious lips, thrusting deeply inside her in one long disciplined stroke.
"Yes, I am," she murmurs, her wanton desire melting all control.
Our lips ravage each other's mouths as my strong hands lift her frantically up and down. The windows are fogging up as the force of our passion unleashes for three more glorious minutes.
"I love you," I whisper, feeling her clenching orgasm, triggering my imminent release.
"I love you too," she replies in a daze, pulling on my hair as the waves of pleasure roll through our satiated bodies.
"Nothing on earth feels as good as being inside you, fiancé." Our breathing paces down, her fingers relaxing into cherishing strokes along my temples.
"We could elope," she purrs, mirroring my own thoughts.
If it were up to me, we would have done that six months ago. But mom needs this. She needs the fun and excitement of helping plan our wedding.
The last few months she's actually been happy. I can't take that away from her. I'm still paying back the pain I caused her when I joined the army, and dealing with the guilt we both planted on my mind.
CHAPTER TWO
My eyes glaze over from staring at inventory data all morning. The hardware team takes immense pride in our accuracy. The quarterly metrics directly impact our annual bonus checks. We employ dozens of veterans at Lowes, many of whom rely on this job to make ends meet. It's my responsibility to ensure they receive maximum compensation.
"Good Morning, Boss," Pete says, wheeling into the small back office.
"Got a minute?"
"Always, soldier," I reply, rubbing my pounding tense temples.
Pete's a new hire, still trying to adjust to civilian life. He lost his left leg in Iraq and is slated to start therapy at the local Army Rehab Center. I watched good men die on the battlefield. Sometimes we all need a reminder to be grateful we returned home.
"Would it be possible to switch assignments? I'm having trouble reaching the upper shelves and bins. A box of heavy support brackets on aisle four almost fell as I reached for them."
"You're on aisle four?" I question. Shit. I overlooked the fact he's in a wheelchair when I posted this morning's assignments. I'm so stressed about the damn numbers I forgot to take care of the people.
"I'm sorry, Pete, that's my mistake. Let's walk over to aisle two, and I'll have you swap with Benny. When do you start therapy?" I ask, feeling guilty about my oversight.
"Tomorrow morning, Boss. I'm on the afternoon shift the remainder of the week. Is that alright?" he asks, hesitating to make waves.
"I'm more than willing to schedule shifts around therapy and doctor appointments. You need to take care of yourself first, Pete. Healing takes time."
"Thanks, Boss. You should heed your own advice once in a while." He talks with Benny as I return to finalize and submit the spreadsheet.
I've been putting off my routine doctor's appointment for weeks. I inhaled years of noxious gasses and fumes on base. The contaminants and environmental exposure we encountered have been known to cause health diseases, from addiction to cancer.
Sarah's been begging me to come into her office for a blood test. As the administrative coordinator, she sees the files of patient after patient with undiagnosed mysterious symptoms.
I've tried to play down the significance of the aches and pains in my legs and lower back, claiming it's job-related. I haven't told her about the discomfort when peeing, or more frequent bathroom trips at night. The only fear worse than losing Sarah would be leaving her a widow.
"Good Morning, Dr. Pritchett's office, how may I help you?" The sweet sounds of Sarah fill my ears, bringing an instant smile to my weary face.
"Hey, beautiful," I say, sensing her returning smile through the phone lines.
"I have an extra hour late this afternoon since I came in early. Will Dr. Pritchett have time to see me?"
Her relief is palpable as she replies. "Of course! He'd do anything for me."
I'm not smiling anymore. The doctor is a good man, and Sarah has proven her faithfulness since our first date. Despite these facts, a twinge of jealousy washes through me. I'm the only one who should fall into the category of "do anything for me." Both of us need peace of mind I'm healthy before we go crazy.
"See you at four, handsome; I've got to grab the other line."
"I love you," I blurt out.
"Me too," she breathes and hangs up.
The blood test was quick and painless. The good doctor was relieved I finally agreed to an evaluation. He didn't suspect anything specific, though prostate-related illnesses are common, given my symptoms. He expects to have the results tomorrow afternoon. I'm on edge.
"What can I cook you for dinner?" Sarah asks as we neck in the parking lot before heading home. "I'm proud of you for completing your checkup, Ian."
She's unendingly thoughtful and kind, my perfect match. "Can you whip me up a hot, bothered fiancé, extra saucy?"
She giggles at my request, squeezing my butt cheeks as I open her car door. "Done. Care for any dessert?"
Hell. Yes.
"A hot chocolate sundae with your cherry on top, please." Her roaring pink blush delights me to the core. Sarah gave me her precious virginity before I left for duty. I knew even then I'd marry her. I lift her off her feet and swing my delicious woman around in joy.
"Race you home," she squeals as I return her feet to the ground.
"Drive safely," I order sternly, instigating the burning of rubber from her tires as she leaves the office complex. I text Everett to say I'm in for beers on Thursday with the squad. I owe them another round for helping make my dream a reality.
***
I see Pete scanning inventory bins as I walk the department floor, straightening tags and merchandise.
"Good Morning Pete, how's the job going so far?" He looks fatigued, his arms weak.
"Hi Boss, just got in. I had my first therapy session this morning. He beat the crap out of me." He's laughing and serious at the same time.
"I don't think I like Sergeant Hayes very much, but he knows exactly what he's doing."
"No kidding, Sergeant Hayes? Good luck with that," I chuckle.
"We served together in the same squad. He'll test your limits, and you'll thank him for motivating you. He's a great guy, glad to hear he's pushing your capabilities."
"Yah, great," he snorts and wheels over to help a customer.
This is the third job for Matthis in the last several months. We see each other every few weeks for beers, but he and I aren't close. Each of the six squad members is struggling with individual challenges. Matthis is afraid to let his guard down and become emotionally intimate with anyone. He's not going to find a forever girl with that lonely attitude.
I glance down at my phone and see my lovely fiancé calling.
"Hello, pretty lady," I greet in an upbeat tone.
"Ian," she says, hesitation in her voice.
"What is it, baby?" I reply, my heart rate spiking as my body heat rises ten degrees.
"Dr. Pritchett wants to see you this afternoon to review your test results. Can you come in at four?"
Why is her voice cracking? Oh, God. Something's wrong with me.
"Yes, but you're alarming me, Sarah. Are you alright?"
Several lines in her office are ringing in the background as she replies she'll see me at four and hangs up. Sarah works in the health care field and has excellent coping skills. My mother, on the other hand, will go ballistic if I have bad news. Neither of us needs another helping of worry in our lives.
CHAPTER THREE
The waiting room is empty as I enter Dr. Pritchett's office. Sarah walks from behind the glass partition and throws her arms around my neck, offering a very public passionate kiss. Damn, I love this searing smooch, but the motivation behind her enthusiasm is concerning.
"I missed you," she says, trying her best to fake a happy, positive smile.
"Stop right there, Sarah James. I can feel the tension in your body. I'll be happy to release your stress inch by inch when we get home. Right now, let me speak with the doctor about my results."
She looks away with concern in her eyes. I'd be angry if the doctor gave her the test data before informing me. Wendy, a kind older nurse, calls my name, and I pass through the double doors to learn my fate.
"Your vitals are normal, Mr. Manning. I'll send the doctor right in."
"Thank you," I reply politely, moving to sit on a chair instead of the cold metal examination table. I want to talk to the doctor man to man. I don't need sugar coating. Combat medics are faced with gruesome injuries in the field. I can handle this.
"Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Manning," he greets with a firm handshake.
Dr. Pritchett begins flipping through my extensive medical folder as he pulls the rolling chair underneath him. "Tell me a little more about your symptoms in the past few months."
"Please, call me Ian." He spends more time with my fiancé than I do; no need to be formal. I mention the frequency of my midnight bathroom trips and my lower back soreness. He's avidly reading through my labwork data, his finger moving from left to right.
"You're showing signs of precancerous cells in your prostate, Ian. The symptoms you describe are incredibly common. There's no cause for extreme concern or any type of invasive cancer treatment at this time."
I should feel relieved, but there's more to this unfolding story.
"I'm going to recommend a powerful prescription, a four to six-week protocol. The drug breaks down unhealthy cells and allows the process of autophagy to recycle them into the healthy tissue. We'll retest and re-evaluate our options at that time. If you have an increase in pain or additional symptoms, I expect you to come in immediately."
The news is only moderately unsettling. There's a great chance the prescription will completely eradicate the disease in my body. The fear surfacing in my alarmed heart isn't about this short-term health challenge; it's about my long-term ability to fulfill my husbandly duties.
"I strongly recommend abstaining from alcohol and low-quality food," he adds.
I only drink one or two beers when I'm with the squad anyway, that's an easy instruction to follow. I can make that minor sacrifice.
My hands rub across my face, hesitant to ask him the next question, afraid of the potentially life-changing answer.
"Will this affect our ability to conceive, Dr. Pritchett?" His clear, concise answer provides little reassurance.
"That's impossible to determine until you've followed the protocol for a few months. I've dealt
with dozens of soldiers exposed to the harmful chemicals and toxins in Iraq. Lifestyle and attitude play a significant role in healing and recovery, regardless of the severity of the illness."
"Will this impact my sexual performance?" I brace for the worst, unashamed to ask.
"Given the mild manifestation of your symptoms, not likely. Read the drug interaction paperwork carefully to understand potential side effects."
"We've caught this early, Ian. I don't see any reason why you'll need treatment after this round of medication is complete, unless the severity of your physical symptoms changes."
