Alex (Striking Back #4)

by S. M. Shade

  “They’re going to neuter me like a goddamn dog!” Panic rings clear in his voice.

  The sight of his tear glazed eyes raises a lump in my throat, and I squeeze his hand. “Listen to me.” My voice is soft. “You can do this. It’s fine to be scared and upset. I sure as hell would be, but you’ll get through this.”

  “It’s not just this. Chemo, for who knows how fucking long and…” His voice breaks and he shakes his head.

  I cup the back of his head, grab a handful of ink black hair and force him to look at me. “You can’t think about that right now. It’s all too overwhelming. One thing at a time. You have to do one thing at a time, and today that one thing is to let them put you to sleep. That’s all. They’ll do the rest. I’ll get you home and everything will be okay. You’ll be pigging out and playing games by tonight.”

  “One thing,” he murmurs, and lets me pull him into a hug.

  The anesthesiologist enters and after seeing his distress, adds a sedative to his IV. “That’ll help relax you until we get started,” she says kindly. The drugs must move with the speed of a fighter jet, because a slow smile spreads across his face.

  “Thank you, you’re beautiful,” Ian says, and she smiles at him.

  “Thank you. We’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t leave. I like to have something pretty to look at.”

  She chuckles and pats his leg. “Sorry, but I have other patients to look after as well.”

  “Are you married? I can’t do married, but if you’re single, I’ll…”

  “Ian!” I exclaim. God knows what he was going to say, but I’m sure it was far from innocent.

  The anesthesiologist waves a hand at my apology while she gathers her equipment. “People react differently to different drugs. They aren’t themselves.”

  “No, that’s him,” I reply, and she laughs.

  “Oh,” Ian exclaims as if he’s had an epiphany. His grin is wide when he tells her, “You’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart. He’s gay as the day is long. But I can show you a good time.”

  Ignoring him, I shake the woman’s hand and she leaves the room with Ian still mumbling about what he’d like to do to her. His eyelids droop as he turns his attention to me. “You should be a woman.”

  Swallowing a laugh, I ask, “Because I’m pretty?”

  “No, because you’re fun and easy to love.” Whoa. My heart jumps in my chest. I know it’s the drugs talking, but I think Ian just said he loves me. Sort of. You know, if I was a woman.

  I don’t know how to respond. Fortunately, whatever drug they gave him knocks him out. He isn’t even aware when they wheel him to the operating room. The surgery is only scheduled to take an hour or so, but I can’t just sit here. I let the nurse know I’ll be close by and leave her my cell number in case something goes wrong, then head outside.

  It’s freezing, but the cold air refreshes me, makes me feel alive. Pacing the walkway in front of the hospital, I’ve never wanted to call someone so badly in my life. My brothers or Everly, anyone. Just to say he’s in surgery. To let someone tell me he’ll be okay. I won’t let Ian go through this alone, but it didn’t occur to me until now that it’ll be hard to be alone with the knowledge of what’s happening to my friend.

  One thing at a time. Just get him through today.

  Ian

  What is that smell? It smells like plastic, and I swear I can taste it. My head seems to weigh a thousand pounds. What the hell did I drink last night? Light assaults my eyes when I manage to drag them open, but I still can’t see much. The world is a smear.

  A blurry face appears and a kind voice says, “You’re in the recovery room, Mr. Turner. Your surgery went just fine.”

  Surgery. Fuck. I have cancer. They just took my testicle off and I have cancer. Even through the fog of anesthesia, I understand this realization is going to smack me in the face every morning. For a few seconds when I open my eyes, I won’t remember, them BAM, everything sucks.

  “Are you in any pain?” she asks.

  Am I? “I can’t really feel anything.”

  “Good, and are you having any nausea?”

  “No, but I can’t see much. Everything is blurry.”

  “That will get better as the anesthetic wears off. The best thing you can do is close your eyes and doze for a while. You’ll feel better.”

  As soon as my eyes shut, I start to slip away again. I’ve never felt so tired in my life. “Let me know when he wakes again,” I hear the nurse say.

  “I will.” A hand tightens around mine, and I realize Alex is right beside me. I want to tell him I’m okay, but I can’t seem to make my voice work. What seems like seconds later, I hear my name being called over and over. Why can’t the guy just shut up?

  “Ian, wake up. The doctor’s here,” Alex says.

  I remember again I’m in the hospital and my eyes fly open. “Mr. Turner, I need to examine your incision. Then we’ll get you up, and after you pee, we can get you discharged and on your way home.”

  A dull throbbing pain in my groin and lower abdomen makes me feel a little sick, like I got kicked in the balls really hard. “Starting to hurt,” I whisper, my mouth bone dry and tasting of plastic.

  “We’ll take care of that,” he promises and peels back the sheet to examine my bandage. “Looking good. You can expect some minimal bleeding and to be sore for a week or so. No strenuous exercise or heavy lifting for four weeks.”

  A nurse removes my IV and gives me a shot of something awesome. The pain recedes and I feel almost normal. High as a bird’s pecker, but good. “Let’s get you out of bed,” the nurse says.

  “Can I have a drink of water?” I have no problem sitting up, then getting to my feet.

  She hands me a cup which I promptly drain. It doesn’t relieve the plastic taste, but at least my tongue isn’t sticking to the roof of my mouth anymore. She walks me up and down the hall a few times, my ass catching the breeze, then leads me to a restroom. “There’s a container in the toilet. You need to pee into that. Don’t remove it or flush, please.”

  Whatever. I don’t ask why they need to see my piss. Following directions will get me out of here. When I emerge, she checks the bathroom, and leads me back to the recovery room. A bag with my clothes, wallet and phone waits on a table beside Alex. “You can get dressed, but don’t leave until I return with your discharge papers,” she warns and hurries away.

  Alex gets to his feet. “How do you feel? Does it hurt?”

  “No, they hooked me up with something good.”

  I pull my boxers from the bag and start to put them on. When the hell did underwear become so tricky? Finally, I get them where they are supposed to be. Alex steps up behind me and unties the laces of the gown. Without a word, he holds out my sweatpants, so I can step into them while I keep one hand on the bed.

  “I’ve got it,” I murmur, when he picks up my shirt. He ends up putting my socks and shoes on me because bending over is just not happening right now. Exhausted just from getting dressed, I sit on the bed. It doesn’t take long before the nurse is back with paperwork and a wheelchair. I know I could walk, but like I said, whatever gets me out of here.

  I climb in the car and watch the scenery go by, fascinated by the blur of color and noise. Alex helps me into the house and onto the couch, and I’m out like a light.

  It’s early evening when I wake, sore and starving. Alex is dozing in the nearby recliner, but his eyes jerk open the second I move. “Hey, are you okay? What do you need?”

  Gritting my teeth, I swing my legs around and plant my feet on the floor. Standing up is going to hurt like a bitch, I can already tell. “I’m good. Just going to grab some water.”

  “Stay put, I’ll get it.” He stands and stretches.

  “I can…”

  A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Don’t start your shit. I have Everly on speed dial.”

  “Are you going to keep threatening me with her?”

  “Only
if you don’t let me help. Now, sit tight and I’ll get you something to drink and a pain pill.”

  “They gave me pain pills?”

  Alex laughs. “Do you remember the ride home at all?”

  “Of course.”

  “Just not the stop at the drive through pharmacy.” Shit. Guess I did lose some time.

  He brings me a pill and a glass of water, and I turn on the T.V. “There’s a new Game of Thrones on in a few minutes,” he says, sitting back down in the recliner.

  The painkiller isn’t as strong as whatever nectar of the gods they gave me at the hospital, but it does the trick. The pain fades to the background while we watch the show. When it’s over, I slowly get to my feet and Alex gives me a “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” look. “Got to piss. You can’t do that for me.”

  He watches until he’s confident I’m steady enough on my feet to walk the five feet to the bathroom. I take a quick piss, not attempting to look at my swollen balls. I’m curious, but I don’t want to freak myself out.

  A cloth covered ice pack waits for me on the couch when I return. Alex pokes his head out of the kitchen. “You’re supposed to ice your junk for twenty minutes a few times a day to reduce the swelling. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving. Do we have any ice cream?”

  “Yep.” He returns with two bowls of cookie dough ice cream, the best food on earth after bacon, and we spend the next few hours watching T.V. When my eyes start getting heavy again, I head to my bedroom. I’m moving slower than old people fuck, but I make it there and crawl into bed. Alex places a large glass of water and another pill on the night table.

  “In case you need it in the middle of the night. I’m leaving our doors open, so yell if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  “Liar,” he says good naturedly. “Are you okay, Ian? Really?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I got through the day. One thing at a time, right?”

  “One thing at a time,” he agrees, and leaves me to sleep.

  That’s pretty much how the rest of the week goes. Alex cooks and cleans up, and we spend hours binging on Netflix. We don’t talk about it, but we’re both waiting to hear the test results that will decide how much chemo I’ll get. It will also give me a better idea of my chances in the long run. I’ve been taking Alex’s advice and trying not to think about it, taking my days one thing at a time.

  As the pain recedes, it does sometimes feel like a mini vacation. I’m not used to being off work and home so much. I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with Alex. It brings back memories of hanging out with him and Cooper, before Cooper died and took a piece of Alex with him. Now, he’s back to his former funny, smiling self.

  The phone call I’ve been dreading and expecting comes a little over a week after my surgery. Alex hovers while I speak to the doctor, pacing the room like it’s him who’s facing weeks or months of chemo torture.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asks as soon as I lay down my phone.

  “One round of chemo with some drug I’ve never heard of. One treatment given by IV. They didn’t find any evidence of metastasis, so it’s being done as a preventative. Then I have to be tested every three to six months to be sure it doesn’t come back.”

  A small part of me was hoping to hear I wouldn’t have chemo at all. I’ve seen how sick and frail people look who are going through treatment. Alex lays a hand on my arm. “This was the best news you could have hoped for, right?”

  “It is,” I sigh. “I’m going to be all right. I just…fucking chemo.”

  “I know, but you’ll get through it the same as you did the surgery. Did they tell you what to expect? Side effects, I mean?”

  “He rattled off a few things. With only one cycle, my hair may thin out, but I probably won’t lose it. Fatigue can last a few weeks. The worst is the puking and nausea the days after the treatment. Fuck, Alex, I don’t want to do this. If it’s only preventative, maybe I don’t have to. I can tell them I choose surveillance. Just the testing to watch for trouble.”

  Alex shakes his head, his serious eyes boring into mine. “And if it does come back, you’ll have months of chemotherapy and a higher chance you won’t survive.” I fall back onto the couch with a groan and he follows me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I know it sucks and it’s fucking terrifying, but you have to do it. I’ll stay with you every second, and a month from now, it’ll all be over.”

  “Okay.” He’s right. I don’t have much choice.

  “When is your treatment?”

  “Not until Monday.”

  “Good. Kyle will only be here for the weekend, so he won’t know anything. Maybe we should get together with Ev and Mason this weekend too. Less chance they’ll show up to check in if they’ve seen us. Unless you’ve changed your mind and want to tell them?” His eyes are hopeful.

  “No, they don’t need to know. We’ll hang out with them Sunday.”

  “Why don’t we get out of here tonight? Go see a movie or something? If you feel up to it?”

  It’s a good idea. I’ve been stuck in the house too long, longer than necessary. I can’t hide out forever. “I feel fine. Add a bacon cheeseburger and you’ve got a deal.”

  We end up pigging out at a fast food restaurant and heading to Hype for drinks instead of a movie. After a few shots, the beat of the music climbs inside me, and I start to feel like myself again. I’d rather be Ian the manwhore than the guy with cancer any day of the week. A thin blonde with an ass that won’t quit is watching me from the dance floor, and finally motions for me to join her. “Go,” Alex laughs. “If you take her home, I’ll catch a cab.”

  The girl is all over me from the second I step onto the dance floor. The last drink catches up with me and a pleasant buzzing races over my skin. For over an hour, I lose myself in the music, the girl, the alcohol. I don’t think about what I lost or what I still have to face. I just dance and enjoy the feel of her body gyrating on mine. My cock obviously suffered no ill effects from the surgery. It’s ready to go.

  “That for me?” she asks with a salacious grin. “Want to get out of here?”

  My body does, but for once my brain wants to argue. She’ll see the scar, still bright pink and tender, not to mention the fake ball. She’s bound to ask what happened, and I go back to being cancer guy again. And what if I can’t? One hard on doesn’t mean anything. I can get hard if the breeze blows on it.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, tonight’s not a good night.”

  Pouting, she leads me back to her table and produces a pen. “Well, call me when it is a good night,” she says, writing her number on my arm.

  “You got it, baby.”

  Alex gazes at me with confusion when I meet him back at our table. He’s sweaty, but sober. He’s been dancing all evening too. “I told you I can grab a cab home. Don’t ditch her on my account.”

  “I’m not interested. You ready to bail?”

  “Sure.” He shrugs, and we head home.

  Alex laughs and plunks himself on the couch when I pull a bottle of bourbon out of the cabinet. “Party’s not over?”

  “Be awhile before I can do this again.” I pour us both a tumbler full and set the bottle between us on the coffee table. We drink in relative silence until Alex turns to me. “Why didn’t you bring that chick home? You never pass up an opportunity.”

  “Just not my type,” I lie, throwing back the rest of my drink. I should stop. I’m at my limit for not waking up feeling like shit, and I’m going to get enough of that in a few days.

  “Bullshit.” His eyes meet mine. I never really noticed their color before. Brown, but sort of golden. His eyelids droop a bit from all the alcohol. “You’re no different, Ian.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Do they feel different to you? Different from each other?”

  “I haven’t checked,” I admit, and shock registers on his face.

  “Are you serious?”

  I nod, and he sighs. “I wasn’t fu
cking with you before when I said I’ve seen and felt enough to know the difference. Well, yeah, I was, but if you’re that concerned, just let me see.”

  “You just want me to whip them out?” I laugh.

  “It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”

  He’s got a point, but catching a glance when I leave the shower or pass out naked in bed isn’t the same. Still, I’d feel better if someone could tell me they don’t look fucked up. There’s no one but Everly I trust more than Alex, and I’m not going to her.

  “It’s not like I’m going to scream ‘I’ve seen Killian’s cock’ from the rooftop,” he teases, trying to make the moment a little less awkward.

  Leaning back, I shove my pants and boxers down. “I’m going to blame the alcohol for this tomorrow,” I chuckle.

  “Whatever makes you feel better.” Alex turns and gazes down at me for a long second. “I can see your scar, but that will fade. I swear, Ian, they look a little swollen, but fine.” When I go to yank my pants up, he stops me. “Feel them. Set your mind at ease.”

  I should. I know I should, but I can’t, especially with him watching. I try to pull my pants up again and his hand lands softly on my balls, slipping under to cup them. “Shit, Alex.” Gently, he kneads and caresses each one, comparing them.

  My cock reacts instantly, growing faster than it did with the bar girl rubbing against me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. There’s no way he can miss it since it’s pointing straight at him. His eyes meet mine as he slowly moves his hand up my balls, watching to see if I’ll stop him from touching my cock. Why aren’t I stopping him? I should be stopping him.

  “You’re perfect, Ian,” he whispers. “You have nothing to worry about.” He grips the base and leisurely strokes up then down. His hand is large and a little rough, so different from the small, soft, female hands I’m used to.

  “Alex, I can’t,” I groan, but my head tumbles back, and my eyes fall shut in response.

  “Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathes, his hand working faster. God, it feels too fucking good. I can’t say stop. The word just won’t come out. I’m not used to going this long without sex or beating off, and my body takes over. My hips lift into his strokes while my breathing accelerates, growing hot in my throat.