Matthis: M.E.D.I.C.S.: An Instalove Steamy Military Medical Romance Read online

  Matthis

  M.E.D.I.C.S.

  Book 1

  Pandora Snow

  Copyright @ 2020

  Read the next book in the series today:

  Everett – M.E.D.I.C.S. Book 2

  I never knew how desperately my bleeding heart was in need of repair. Until she gave me hers.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  The midnight calm is shattered as gunfire rings out across the base. Soldiers immediately begin scrambling for weapons and helmets. I snatch my M-16 and Unit One Pack, staying low and clinging to the tent's edges. Four excruciating minutes later, the Commander signals all-clear. I launch to my feet and run urgently for the infirmary. I pray we don't have too many wounded soldiers this time.

  Six Months Later

  The Army Rehabilitation Center is cleaner and more modern than I expected. After spending four years in the filthy sands of Iraq and breathing toxic fumes from chemical warfare, everywhere I go is more tolerable. Returning to everyday civilian life is more challenging than I expected. You can take the man out of the desert, but you can't take the haunting memories out of the man.

  Tons of active and discharged privates, and a few decorated officers, are working out on a variety of recovery machines. I'm meeting Commander Brigham to begin my assigned position as a Rehab Specialist. Maintaining steady employment is proving to be difficult, loss following me from job to job.

  There's no mistaking who he is as his powerful, towering frame walks my direction, patting several men on the back, commanding respect. I'm no slouch myself, six foot five and two hundred twenty pounds of hard lean muscle. My strength saved my ass on the base. Now that I'm home, the Army wants to continue taking full advantage of my physical capabilities.

  "Welcome, Sergeant Hayes, glad to you have you on board."

  "Likewise, Commander Brigham, Sir," I reply, his handshake formidable, his face stoic.

  "We have paperwork to attend to in my office. Follow me."

  As I follow the Commander to his office, I scan the men's weary faces who've been injured in battle. A mix of determination, resolve and struggle imprinted upon their personality. I remind myself to be grateful I made it home in one piece. Private Hampton did not.

  After the standard barrage of questions and service duty verification, he adds one last employment criteria to the list.

  "You'll be required to attend two weekly one-hour therapy sessions, Sergeant Hayes. Treating the mental state of our men and women is a crucial piece of their recovery program."

  "Yes, Sir," I reply. Several of the men in our unit were in online therapy, even during deployment. For me, there's nothing like a good dozen beers to chase away the ghosts and demons that dwell in my mind. Talking about the past and reliving painful memories does no good. As the cliché goes, it's all my mother's fault anyway.

  "The therapist's office is to the right," Commander Brigham says as we walk towards the rehab floor. "Schedule your first appointment. I'll see you in commons for lunch."

  "Thank you, Sir, glad to be part of the team," I say in parting. We shake hands once again, uncertainty churning in my stomach.

  Stress is coursing through my body, worried about being required to sit through therapy. I know exactly what the root cause of my issues are, and nothing will change that. On the positive side, this is an excellent paying position, and I'll be able to take care of soldiers. Perhaps there's some small benefit to suffering through a long-winded doctor's sanctimonious speech. Maybe the couch is comfortable.

  My breathing rate accelerates as I open the door marked, "Therapy. Fletcher, M.A." I'm halted two feet over the threshold as my eyes fixate on a young woman before me. She's standing on a rickety step stool and reaching high for a large, heavy textbook. My proper mind is taken hostage by the instantaneous desire flowing through my fully alert body.

  She has a perfect shapely figure; curvy round hips, full plump buttocks, and legs for miles. Her dark brown hair is piled high on top of her head in a clip, and her long arms are strong and lean. Paired with a tight navy knee-length skirt and white silk blouse, she's the epitome of a fantasy secretary. If she's part of the therapeutic package, I'm all in.

  "Excuse me, Maam," I say, after clearing my suddenly dry throat, startling her.

  I watch her torso shift towards me and her right foot lift off the stool, causing the support to wobble. Her arms flail out to the bookcase to catch herself, but she can't maintain a solid grip. I instinctively rush to her side, clutching her falling body in my muscular arms right before she hits the floor. The sound of her gasp as her arms cross over my shoulders is captivating.

  "Sorry," she breathes out, shaking slightly as I carefully place her two feet solidly on the unforgiving cement ground. She could have seriously injured herself on that floor, even broken a bone. Lucky for her, I'm a combat medic.

  "No problem, Maam," I reply, her flustered eyes rising to meet mine.

  Damn, she's absolutely gorgeous. Her embarrassed hazel eyes feel as though they're looking straight through me, evaluating me. She inhales deeply and steps back, my arms begrudgingly letting her go.

  There's a long tension-filled pause between us before I speak.

  "Sergeant Hayes, the new Rehab Specialist." My hand immediately reaches for hers to soak up more of her beguiling feminine energy. The soft, warm skin sends electricity straight to my groin.

  "Yes, of course," she replies, finding her professional voice. "You need an appointment."

  This attractive secretary is completely derailing my mission as my smile turns slightly lustful. "Yes, let Dr. Fletcher know my schedule is wide open the remainder of this week."

  Her offended eyes immediately shoot to mine, her inviting lips forming an unpleasant scowl. "Allow me to introduce myself, Sergeant Hayes." She emphasizes my name, the indignant sound from her lips delighting me further.

  "Dr. Christine Fletcher, at your service."

  Whoops, my bad. A dazzling smile bursts across my face as I reach out my arm for another friendly touch. She refuses to accept the polite gesture, and if I'm not mistaken, smirks at her confident rebuff.

  Her four-inch clicking heels walk around the desk, and she maneuvers the mouse until an appointment schedule appears. "I have a session available tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Good day Sergeant."

  My mouth falls open at her sudden abrupt dismissal. Mistaking her for the secretary was an honest oversight. My aroused body is turned on further by her harsh rebuke, a feeling that's lain dormant for months.

  "Good day, Maam," I say, and hurry out the door. I'm smiling from ear to ear as I walk over to meet a few of my new colleagues. Dr. Christine Fletcher is beautiful, fiery, and amazing. I like my new job already.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Hayes, over here!" I hear Everett call from across the bar.

  Tinder's is a good old-fashioned military country bar, complete with bucking bronco and scantily clad women. My former Iraq squad gets together for beers several nights a week, whoever can make the time. We can talk to each other about anything. The bonds between men in a close-knit squad run blood deep. My fellow servicemen are my brothers.

  "A toast to our newly employed Sergeant," Cyrus says, handing me an ice-cold beer. We clink bottles and throw the entire drink back, a tradition we started when one of us has good news to share.

  Everett and Cyrus are rock-solid friends, supporting me through many horrific nights in the infirmary. We were dropped into combat medic duty in the middle of war-torn Iraq with only sixteen weeks of training.

  If one of us lacke
d skill or specific knowledge when treating a soldier, another stood up, and we learned together. The rapid-fire pace of nonstop battle forced us to excel under all circumstances. The lifelong discipline of learning to think on your feet in unimaginable conditions has proven invaluable in our daily lives.

  "How was your first day?" Snake asks. "Meet any cute women?"

  He has a one-track mind and a heart of gold, though he'll never reveal that fact. Like the rest of us, his tough exterior is a mask to hide the pain and grief hidden deep inside. I worry about Snake occasionally, knowing how desperate he is for a compassionate, loving woman to take his side. Until he lets someone into his battered heart, he'll remain alone.

  "Mostly privates," I laugh, Christine's sexy body swaying through my distracted mind at this exact moment.

  "You did!" Snake hoots. "You're fucking blushing!"

  Shit, I'm never going to live this down. I'll stick to the facts. Besides, Christine was clear she has no interest in any personal interaction with me, yet.

  "Shut up, loser," I retort, another beer emptied.

  "All soldiers at the Rehab Center are required to attend weekly therapy sessions. The therapist just happens to be a woman, a hot voluptuous woman."

  "I'm jealous," Everett chimes in, another round of beers set on the table.

  Everett is my best friend, a man of solid integrity and worth. Every aspect of his life is admirable, taking care of his aging father and working full time to further his medical career. I see the way women swoon over his handsome looks, but he's oblivious. He refuses to take time for himself. One of these days, a woman is going to knock him off his grounded feet. I certainly hope so; he's just as lonely as I am.

  "To Hayes finally getting laid!" Snake jokes. I'm on board with that plan, but I have to convince Christine to actually like me.

  We give each other a rundown of what's new in our lives. I realize I'm one of the fortunate ones. Cyrus is making a valiant effort to fight through the pain, though I see fatigue in his eyes. His father landed him a management job with a large housing development firm. The pressure of budgets and contractors leaves him little time for a social life. Work, eat, sleep; that's all we do.

  "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, there's a sexy blonde by the bar with my name on her. Get into some trouble while I'm gone." He walks off to his next target, the rest of us deciding to head home.

  Everett, Cyrus, and I are meandering to our cars and reliving the good times we shared on base when Everett pulls me aside. "Hey, Matthis, I'm happy for you. You have a chance to start fresh. Don't blow it this time, ok?"

  This is the third job the Army has placed me in since I left active duty. I've been unable to shake the loss and regret of losing a soldier under my direct care.

  "No one is asking us to forget what happened or deny our pain," Everett continues. "They're asking us to accept we did our best and move on. Maybe your new therapist can help you work through your emotional issues. It's time for you to release your self-judgment and regrets."

  With a pat on the back, he jumps into his jeep. I know he's right. What I don't know is if I have the courage to face that fact.

  ***

  My nerves are ramping up as I walk towards Christine's office. I made a poor first impression and behaved like a cocky ass. Time to swallow my pride and give her the respect she deserves. If she were in the Army, she'd technically be my superior. I could spend days fantasizing about that scenario.

  "Good Morning, Sergeant Hayes," she says politely as I walk through the door.

  "Good Morning, Dr. Fletcher," I respond, feeling incredibly awkward referring to her with a formal title. I follow her into another small well lit room, and she closes the door behind me.

  The faint scent of peonies floats by as she motions for me to have a seat. She looks terrific, and she smells fantastic. I wonder how she tastes?

  "Before we begin Sergeant, do you have any initial questions about therapy? The conversations we exchange in this room are one-hundred percent confidential. You are safe to express all types of feelings and emotions. We can discuss any aspect of your life, personal or professional."

  The pile of hair on top of her head is begging to be let loose, her dark-rimmed glasses covering eyes that beckon me to explore what's underneath her sensual exterior. The glare in her eyes is hardening as I throw out the first question that comes to my infatuated mind.

  "Where did you earn your credentials, Dr. Fletcher?" I didn't mean for my voice to sound commanding.

  "Princeton University, Sergeant Hayes. Shall we begin?"

  "Yes, Maam," I reply, enjoying the annoyance in her voice.

  "I've thoroughly read your service records. Thank you for your willingness to continue employment with the Army. I'd like to learn about your life since ending active duty. What, if anything, are you struggling with on a daily basis?"

  Self-confidence, painful regret, allowing a woman into my heart; where should we start?

  "I'm financially stable, and this position is a perfect fit for my medic skills. I don't see myself as struggling." Her face remains blank as she contemplates my answer.

  "How do you manage the little everyday stresses of life?" she asks, taking another tactic.

  "I don't feel much stress, Miss Fletcher. The boys and I get together for beers several nights per week. We talk about life, and everyone's happy."

  "Dr. Fletcher," she replies immediately, her magical hazel eyes turning from inviting brown to irritated green.

  "Sergeant!" her stern voice says, catching me mindlessly swimming in her pools of beauty.

  "Of course, Maam. I mean, Dr. Fletcher." She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable with either my disrespect or my heated gaze. Maybe both if I'm lucky.

  "Why is this your third job in three months, Sergeant? Your records indicate you were reassigned after only a few weeks at your prior two positions."

  I'm not sure myself; I just knew I couldn't stay any longer. "I don't honestly know, Dr. Fletcher. The facilities just didn't feel like a good fit after the first several weeks."

  "What felt different from the beginning of the assignment to the day you chose to resign from the facility?"

  "I don't know," I offer lamely.

  "Guess," she insists.

  "I don't know," I repeat.

  "Sergeant Hayes," she says in a professional, determined voice.

  "You experienced intense trauma in Iraq. I read in your report you took personal responsibility when you lost a serviceman the night of August third. I've been a therapist long enough to know these tragic losses take time to process. My job is to help you accept the circumstances and move towards healing them."

  "I'm fine, Dr. Fletcher. I don't need to relive the past." My wavering voice says otherwise.

  "Do you blame yourself?" she asks, the heat from her body mingling with my rising anger over my failure to save an injured soldier that night.

  "No," I lie, standing up to leave. This isn't therapy; it's torture.

  "We're not finished, Hayes," she says, standing to meet my dominant stance.

  "Sergeant Hayes," I order loudly, my mind no longer in control of my body.

  I sweep my arms around her back, pulling her tightly against me. My right hand tilts her mouth to meet mine, and I kiss her. I kiss her like I've been in a six-month dry spell, because I have. My lips coax hers to open, and I inject my tongue inside her delicious mouth. She. Feels. So. Good.

  Christine relents to my intrusion for a fierce ten seconds, before pushing my chest back and slapping me hard across the left cheek.

  "Get out," she mandates, stepping out of my reach and catching her breath.

  Realization quickly sinks in I've made a colossal mistake by crossing her professional boundaries. I promptly exit her office, my hands clenching at my sides. What the hell have I done?

  My self-control abandoned me when I needed it most. Christine struck my jugular without knowing, or perhaps she does know. I left my two prior positions because I was
scared. I was becoming attached to the wellbeing and friendship of my patients. I allowed my fear of losing another friend to cloud my rational good judgment. I took the cowardly way out. I ran. Again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  My afternoon is busy as I work through exercises with a seasoned patient, a veteran of WWII. He continues correcting every move I make as we stretch his weak legs. "You have no idea what you're doing! Watch out, that's my bad knee!" It seems every move I make today is rubbing someone the wrong way.

  "Sergeant Hayes. My office. Now."

  The soldier smiles up at me and laughs, "Oh shit, you're in trouble! That's the Commander."