by Pandora Snow
Everett
M.E.D.I.C.S.
Book 2
Pandora Snow
Copyright @ 2020
Exclusive Amazon Release
Drake – M.E.D.I.C.S. Book 3
“She’s given me everything, but she can’t cure me. If I don’t find a way to reign in this paralyzing fear, there’ll be no one left to love.”
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CHAPTER ONE
Adrenaline rushes through my sleeping body. The explosion of artillery outside my tent bursts through the still night air. My Unit One Pack is around my shoulder as I crawl along the dry dirt floor, helmet shielding my skull. Several ear-piercing rounds of gunfire later, the all-clear signal is given. My legs catapult my body into motion, keeping low as I sprint for the infirmary. I already hear soldiers calling out the injured as I reach the entrance. Thank God Hayes is here to control the chaos.
SIX MONTHS LATER
The overpowering scent of soiled bedsheets wafts through my nostrils. I've cleaned up worse messes than Dad's excrement while on duty in Iraq. He had another uncontrollable bathroom accident today while I was drudging away at work. This is the third time this week he's failed to get to the restroom in time, and the third time this week I've worked late. The painful truth is I'm failing in both respects. I feel utterly defeated.
"What can I make you for dinner, Dad, the usual?" The washer is churning in the background, and I've remade the bed with fresh cotton sheets. My empty stomach growls and hunger pangs roar, realizing I forgot to eat lunch.
"Meatloaf with ketchup, "he says, zoning out as he watches an old episode of a WWII documentary on the History channel.
My uncomplicated cooking is decent at best. Dad will eat just about anything with ketchup, fresh beef a luxury after years of MRE's. When I first returned home from Iraq, I used to spend time meal prepping for the entire week. The extra hours at work have significantly cut my precious free time. Maybe I'll stock up on a few ready to eat meals from the grocery store this weekend, just in case.
"Caring for your loved ones and giving you peace of mind." I look up at the commercial as I set Dad's tasteless dinner on the wood table in front of him.
A nice-looking middle-aged woman is playing cards with an older man at the dining room table. They're both smiling as the number flashes across the bottom of the screen. Dad's smile has been rare in the last several months; his pre-diabetes' physical symptoms reduce his mobility. I wish I had time to take him to the Army Rehab Center. Hanging out with his war buddies and engaging in therapeutic exercise is precisely what he's missing.
Perhaps having a kind woman around to keep him company while I'm at work would lift his spirits. Lord knows I could use a little tender loving care from a woman in the physical department. I'm kidding myself if I think I can find the time to date right now. I can't even remember to eat; I'm so overworked.
"I'm going out for a few hours, Dad, you alright?" Despite my tiring day, I need to meet up with the guys. Matthis started a new job, and I'm curious how it's panning out.
"I'm good," Dad says as I walk out the front door. I can taste the thirst-quenching beer already.
"Hayes, over here!" I shout above the loud country music. Matthis is my best friend, a good-hearted soldier struggling as much as I am to adjust to civilian life. He's been through two jobs since returning from active duty. He's afraid to commit himself to any one position, or to anyone he meets at work.
"A toast to our newly employed Sergeant," Cyrus says. We clink bottles and throw down the first beer of the night.
"How's your Dad?" Matthis asks, trying to take the heat off himself since Snake embarrassed him. I'm jealous he has a potential girl on the horizon.
"He's doing alright. I had to work late again, and I'm feeling guilty about leaving him alone all day."
"Have you looked into some type of home care service? I'm sure his V.A. benefits will cover some of the costs. He's probably tired of looking at your ugly mug every day." Cyrus must be reading my mind.
"To Everett's ugly mug!" Snake says, another toast offered.
"Thanks for the support," I reply sarcastically. "I've got to get going, make sure Dad's safely in bed."
"I'll walk out with you," Matthis says. "Later, soldiers."
"You should call a home care service tomorrow, Everett. You've been working yourself to the bone. You look weary."
"I know," I reply, reaching for my keys. "And you should lighten up on yourself. This new position sounds perfect for you. Don't blow it this time."
"Thanks, man. I can always count on you."
"Always. Remember that."
I pull up the picture of the commercial I took on my phone as I start the overworked engine of my jeep. I need some relief, time to call in backup.
CHAPTER TWO
"Slow down, you're making me look bad," Jackson says, as I process the morning's test tubes.
Business at Linden Labs is skyrocketing. The number of patients requesting lab work for personal evaluation is increasing daily. Having the ability to take our health in our own hands is tremendous. My fear is self- diagnosing without seeking the advice of a qualified physician can be dangerous. On the battlefield, soldiers obeyed my every command. Now I'm processing results that may lead a civilian to harm if they're reckless.
"I'm leaving early today. I have an appointment with a home care specialist for my Dad." Making that call was extremely hard, and I'm nervous about allowing a stranger in our home.
"That's good to hear, Everett. You're an incredibly conscientious son, but you aren't superman. You have to let other people help you when it makes sense. This makes sense."
"I appreciate the advice," I reply, checking the time.
"Do you ever have fun?" Jackson asks, giving me a questioning look. "If you don't prioritize your own well-being, you'll burn out. There's more to life than taking care of others, Everett. You need to remember to take care of yourself too."
"I'll try," I say, sanitizing my station and washing my hands. "See you tomorrow."
Dad is surprisingly agreeable with my plan to have someone take care of him and keep him company during the afternoons. Whether or not I can find a caregiver who meets my high standards is another issue entirely. Barney barks as we hear the doorbell ring. I cross my fingers this is a wise decision.
"Good Afternoon. Mr. Peterson?" a young lady greets me as I open the door. "Miss Michelle Cummings with Home Care Helpers. It's a pleasure to meet you."
My eyes blink twice as I reach out my anxious hand for her pale, delicate fingers. A spark of electricity shoots up my arm as she smiles sweetly, an instant connection created. I'm struggling to remember what she just said her name is, my thoughts allowing my body a moment to feel her soft skin.
I expected a woman in her fifties, but this girl can't be more than twenty-four. She has fire engine red hair and a shapely curvaceous figure. Her emerald green eyes are sparkling with enthusiasm as she removes her polite hand from mine. I'm left feeling empty.
"Don't just stand there, bring her in!" Dad shouts from the living room.
She lets out a small chuckle as I stand back and motion her to step inside.
"This is my father, Veteran Frank Peterson," introducing them as we reach the lazy-boy chair he calls home. I stammer for a moment, embarrassed. I genuinely cannot remember her name.
"Miss Michelle Cummings, sir, wonderful to meet you." She shakes his hand, his eyes lighting up at her tenderness and warmth. Dad hasn't reacted positively to a woman like this since Mom died. My feeling of relief is immense. This arra
ngement might actually work.
Miss Cummings begins walking us through the average day to day protocol for her visits. She's a registered nurse with three years of in-home experience. Deciding on an altruistic profession at such a young age must have been important to her.
"Do you mind if I ask you why you chose the nursing profession, Miss Cummings?" Dad is well pleased with everything she's discussed so far.
"My mother passed away about ten years ago. My brother and I struggled to find quality care for her after she was diagnosed with cancer. We were just starting high school and weren't able to manage that level of responsibility. I vowed to honor her by helping others in need. Nursing was a logical choice."
Cracks are penetrating my heart with every word she speaks. The genuine compassion and kindness in her words flow through me at a deep level, reconnecting me with my own mother's loss. Miss Cummings is exactly who Dad needs. There's a fair chance Miss Cummings is also precisely who I need.
"You're hired!" Dad says energetically, both of us grinning.
"Alright, Dad, we'll give this a try. Let me talk to Miss Cummings about the contract in the kitchen while I make your dinner."
I remove last night's meatloaf from the fridge as I motion for her to be seated at the round kitchen table.
"Do you cook, Mr. Peterson?" she asks, eyeing me curiously as I place the cold plate into the microwave.
"Please, call me Everett," I request, stopping to gaze into her gorgeous eyes.
"Michelle," she says, slowly walking over to where I'm standing.
"Do you mind if I have a peak in your refrigerator? I'm sure that day-old meatloaf is fine," she gently chastises, clearing her throat with an amusing cough.
"But I consider myself a worthy competitor in the kitchen. I'd be happy to make you gentleman a solid home-cooked meal if you're interested." I'm interested, in more than her cooking.
Time slows as she waits for my response. The unfamiliar feelings of allowing someone to help me are mixing with my attraction to her generous spirit. I take caring for Dad exceptionally seriously, to the detriment of my own well-being. Perhaps it's time to surrender a small amount of pride to gain a potentially ongoing reward, her sweet companionship.
"Yes, Miss Cummings, I would like that. I mean, Dad would like that."
Her disarming mouth opens slightly, pleased with my response.
"Michelle, please call me Michelle."
She orders me back to the living room and whips up a fantastic Italian pasta dish with flavorful tomato sauce and meatballs. I call out to her several times to ask if she needs my help, but she declines. Dad relaxes and spouts trivia about WWII, in which he bravely fought.
Michelle serves his piping hot plate onto the tray table and asks me to join her in the kitchen. My mother's memories of meals at this table threaten to turn me into a hot mess of emotion. What is this heavenly woman known as Michelle doing to me?
"Tell me about your work, Everett," she says, her eyes enjoying watching me consume her delicious meal, as though it was my last.
"I'm a medical technician for Linden Laboratories. We facilitate private testing."
"Oh, do you have a background in the medical field?" she asks excitedly.
"Yes. I served as a Combat Medic in Iraq for four years. I was discharged from active duty about six months ago."
"Wow," she exclaims, "we have so much in common!"
Dammit if I'm not going to jump across this table and lay her against the wall for a ferocious kiss. Either I've entirely forgotten what it's like to feel passion circulating through my body, or she's resonating a signal of attraction so strong no man can resist. Likely both.
"That's the best meal I've had in years," Dad calls from the living room.
"I second that. Thank you, Michelle," I say, my voice laced with desire.
An intoxicating shade of light pink flashes across her cheeks as she walks over to pick up Dad's empty plate. She peeks up at me from underneath her eyelashes and sets all of our dishes in the sink. A sweet sexy woman who can cook and take care of Dad and me; this morning's phone call may be the best decision of my life.
We're washing the dirty dishes together. She insisted on cleaning up her mess, and I insisted on helping her. Our hands have touched several times; when I hand her plates, when I take soapy dishes from her to rinse, when I accidentally touch her fingers in between.
"What time would you like me here tomorrow afternoon?" she asks, drying her hands on a towel and picking her binder up from the table. I desperately want to give her an embrace and take a full inhale of her alluring rose scent.
"I leave for work at seven-thirty. Dad will be fine until lunchtime. Shall we say one o'clock?"
"Yes, that would work well for me too. If you'd like, I can make dinner for you once or twice per week. I enjoyed spending time with you and your father, Everett."
Screw manners. My arms extend fully around her back, pulling her close. My lips kiss her silky hair, my eyes closing slightly to savor the moment.
"Goodnight, Everett," she says, walking towards my father in an attempt to hide the blossoming pink color in her cheeks.
"See you tomorrow, Miss Cummings?" Dad asks, looking up briefly from the television screen.
"Yes, sir, one o'clock. Goodnight, gentlemen."
She gives me a small wave and I close the front door, ready to retreat to my bedroom and analyze my tumultuous feelings.
"She's a keeper," Dad says, smiling up at me. "Grab her while you can, son." I return his smile and collapse on the couch. Barney immediately jumps on my lap and licks my salty cheek. Even the dog approves of Michelle.
CHAPTER THREE
"Everett, nice to see you again," Tommy greets me as I walk into the gym. When I returned from Iraq, I was lifting weights three to four times per week. Lately, the frequency has been once a month. Michelle has taken an enormous load off my shoulders the last few days. I didn't realize how heavy my burdens were regarding my father's care.
I'm feeling optimistic about a potential relationship with her. Our proximity has been slowly increasing; when sitting on the couch with Dad, making dinner, and my new favorite activity, washing dishes. I came extremely close to kissing her last night. She had a giant bubble of soap on her nose, which increased her adorableness factor a hundredfold. My thumb brushed the suds away as her lips parted, but I couldn't finish the job. Dad called out for some dessert, and the spell was broken.
Pounding the machines is releasing the increasing pressure being piled on top of me at work. We're down one full-time technician, and the demand continues to increase. My boss is well aware I have an aging father to attend to, but my personal circumstances are irrelevant in business. The job must get done, regardless of personal sacrifice. I thought I was discharged from active duty. My boss is tougher on me than Sergeant Hayes was.
My forehead is dripping with sweat as I walk in the house, the air conditioning an oasis in the desert. Michelle is sitting at the kitchen table with Dad, and he's showing her an old photo album. Holy crap, she convinced Dad to leave his beloved recliner for a few minutes. I'm speechless.
She looks over at me with fervent eyes, genuinely interested in Dad's stories and tales about the war and our family. Her eyes suddenly look down. I catch the expression of sensuality that flashes through them.
She gets up from the table and walks over to me with a hand towel to wipe my face. In my mind, we're already buck naked in the steaming shower together, as she rubs the cloth along my damp forehead. I stink and I'm dripping with sweat. Fuck it.
My right hand cups her left cheek, and I tenderly plant my damp lips across hers. I feel her sharp intake of breath as she drops the towel and grips my biceps, melting deliciously into my mouth. Her soft kiss deepens, my cock suddenly interested in where this is going.
"You coming back, Michelle?" Dad calls out. Dammit.
"Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Go take a shower," she breathes out in a sultry voice, releasing my vict
orious body.
"Yes, Maam," I reply, grinning from ear to ear. I'm high on the scent of rose as I clean my hard body under the torrential water flow. This arrangement couldn't possibly be going any better. I can't wait to tell the guys, even if I have to put up with Snake's obnoxious jokes.
Michelle is taking requests now because she's made Dad's favorite all-time meal, macaroni hot dish. She's officially off the clock at six, but she's still here, sharing a meal with us.
"Your father mentioned you served at Ballad Air Base in Iraq. Tell me about your experience."
"My squad and I served hundreds of soldiers every week, for well checks and routine testing. We also treated injured soldiers during our tour of duty, most of them able to continue active service. My time in the Army was the toughest and most rewarding four years of my life."