Dr. Price stood, turning with a concerned look on his face. His gaze moved over Dylan, then down to the dog who was nudging her.
“Your dog is alerting you,” he said.
My gaze slipped down, seeing the kind of frantic look on the dog’s face, like she was worried that her human wasn’t listening to her.
“Colter, get her on the couch,” he demanded.
“I’m just a little low,” Dylan said, but she moved along with me as I led her to the couch.
“Your sugar?” Dr. Price asked, moving in front of her, reaching out for her wrist to check her pulse.
“Yeah.”
“When’s the last time you tested your sugar?”
Sugar?
She was diabetic?
“Last night.”
“Last night?” Dr. Price asked, his tone a little sharp.
I didn’t know anything about managing diabetes, how often you needed to test. But, clearly, she was not doing it often enough.
“I’ve been careful not to eat carbs. I’m out of insulin,” she admitted. Then her gaze flicked up to me, “they took it all.”
Christ.
That was a real dick move.
Who steals someone else’s medicine?
Well, I guess the kind of men who would kill or force women into prostitution.
“Well, we can fix that,” Dr. Price said, reaching into his kit. “Do you not have a continuous monitor?”
“No. I have… Sugar,” she said, patting the head of the dog who was still letting out pathetic little whimpers.
“Okay. Let’s test you then,” he said, pulling out a little kit.
He spread it out, opening an alcohol wipe and cleaning Dylan’s finger.
“I can do it,” she insisted.
“I’m sure you can,” Dr. Price agreed, reaching for a little blue plastic thing and shoving it into something pen-shaped.
He pressed it to her finger and hit a plunger.
The way Dylan inhaled was the only sign that anything happened.
When he came away, a bead of blood was on her finger. From there, Dr. Price gathered up the blood and checked it with the monitor.
“Can someone make her some juice or candy? Even a soda would work, but not diet.”
Slash came over with some orange juice.
“Thanks,” Dylan said, her voice small as she took it.
