Page 27 of Disciplinary Action
“Can I help you, sir?” the man asked, looking Gideon up and down, possibly for an injury.
Gideon fought to remain calm. “Yes, I’m looking for a patient just brought in by ambulance. Callum Whyte.”
The man tapped on the keyboard in front of him. “Are you family, sir?”
“Yes,” Gideon lied without missing a beat.
“Uh, okay, let me check in the back and see if he’s stable enough for visitors. One moment, please.”
Stable enough? Gideon’s stomach clenched at the words. He should have checked on him the moment he noticed he wasn’t in school. How long had he been on the streets? How long had he gone without food or proper medication? Why hadn’t he taken him to the hospital yesterday? Gideon had known something was wrong all day, but he’d ignored it, the voice in his head screaming that the boy wasn’t his concern. Which was just stupid because, of course, he was. He’d agreed to watch over him for the six weeks they were involved, had agreed to be the boy’s Daddy and there was more to that than just sex and punishment. It was quite clear Callum needed a Daddy, a protector, somebody to keep him safe.
“Sir?”
Gideon jerked his head upwards, realizing the nurse was back and speaking to him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said he’s not conscious, but as soon as he’s stabilized, they’re moving him upstairs to the step-down unit. If you’d like to head up to the fifth-floor waiting room, I can ask his doctor to come speak to you as soon as he’s able.”
“Of course,” Gideon muttered, already heading towards the elevator down the hall.
He hated this place. The bleach smell, the frigid air, the decor, which was some kind of industrial chic with its chrome and wood finishes and sterile white floors. There was an energy to the place that forever set Gideon’s teeth on edge. A sort of melancholy that made people feel like death just lurked in the corners, waiting for them all.
As Gideon stepped off the elevator, he sucked in a breath, pain searing his chest like an ice pick through his ribcage. He’d been there before. Waiting. Waiting for them to tell him what had happened to his husband. It wasn’t the same floor or even the same waiting room. They’d sent Gideon to the basement that time…to say his final goodbyes.
But the shiny pale wooden tables and olive green chairs were the same. Bookshelves overflowing with donated books nobody would ever bother to read lined the back wall. A television in the corner played a home design show on mute, subtitles blipping across the screen. It was the same room, no matter the floor, no matter the hospital. It was the room where people sat you down and made you wait to hear news that would change your life for better or worse.
He flopped down in the chair closest to the door. He should call somebody. Anybody. Surely somebody had to care about Callum, somebody other than the headmaster he’d blackmailed. It seemed impossible that somebody wouldn’t have come to his rescue. An aunt? A family friend? Somebody who saw Cal was an innocent victim in his father’s schemes? Somebody who didn’t think an appropriate punishment was to leave a nineteen-year-old penniless and dying in the street?
“Sir?”
Gideon lurched to his feet at the man standing before him. He looked like he couldn’t be much more than thirty, with his unwrinkled face and his big brown eyes hidden behind black framed glasses. He wore black scrubs and a lab coat that identified him as a Dr. McManus. His stethoscope hung from an oversized pocket, and his sandy blond hair stood up in all directions, like he might have been catching some sleep in the on-call room before Cal had arrived.
“Yes, how is he?”
The man folded his arms across his chest. “You’re family?”
“The only family he’s got,” Gideon bluffed.
“Well, Callum needs to start taking better care of himself. His blood sugar is well over 900. His potassium is elevated, he’s severely dehydrated. Another few hours and he very well might have died. Who does he live with?”
That was a great question. Who had Cal been living with? “He was staying with a friend, or so I was told. I no longer believe that to be the case.”
“He’s still not conscious. We’ve given him a small dose of insulin to get him started, but he’s going to have to remain here on an insulin drip until we can slowly stabilize him. We need to watch his fluids and electrolytes. We placed a nasogastric tube to keep him from aspirating. He’s a very sick kid.”
Gideon dropped back down into the seat, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know how this happened. Just last week, his sugar had crashed so low, I almost took him to the hospital. Now, it’s through the roof.”
The man shrugged. “He’s what we call a brittle diabetic. This isn’t the first time Callum’s been in here for treatment, according to his chart. I’m going to assume he’s had a major change of circumstance financially since his last admission four years ago. I can’t say for sure until he wakes up and we can ask him, but my guess is he’s been rationing his insulin. We’re seeing it more and more in type 1 diabetics who can no longer afford their medications.”
“How much could it cost somebody who needs it to stay alive? Surely, there’s some program in place to help people like him? People without money?”
“There are programs in place but, at his age, I don’t know that he’d know how to access them. And they truthfully aren’t for people like Callum who’s been using U500.” Gideon didn’t know what any of that meant but he let the doctor finish. “Your average long-acting insulin averages about two hundred and fifty dollars a vial, but if you need something like U500, it can run as much as fifteen hundred a vial. Imagine paying that times six vials and you’ll see why we’re in the crisis situation we’re in. I can set Callum up to speak with our diabetes educator but I doubt this is about a lack of education and more about a lack of funds. He looked pretty worse for wear.”
Jesus. Was this why the boy had agreed to work for Hillary? He was desperate for money for his meds? Even with Gideon’s tip, their night together would have only paid for a single vial of medication. Gideon shook his head. “Once he’s recovered, Callum will come home with me. I’ll cover his medical expenses and his medications. I had no idea things were this bad.”
“We’ve got him set up in his room, so I can take you to see him now. A member of our financial team will come and speak to you at some point. There are no set visiting hours for the step down unit, so you’re free to stay as long as you like.” Gideon stood once more to follow him when Dr. McManus turned around. “There is one more thing. Do you know where he got the bruises on his thighs and buttocks?”
Gideon’s eyes went wide. Fuck, he hadn’t even thought of that. “No, I’m sorry. As I said, I haven’t been as attentive as I should have. He’s clearly in need of some attention and care.”
Dr. McManus gave him one more up and down glance, like he was trying to decide if Gideon was the hero or villain of this particular scene—something Gideon found himself asking more and more lately. Finally, Dr. McManus made some internal decision and turned on his heel, nodding his head in the direction of the door.
