She wouldn’t look at anyone, making me think that she was embarrassed about the whole situation. It was stupid. But I could understand. She was used to being in charge, in control. No biker president wanted to seem weak or reliant on anyone. Especially strangers.
She sipped her orange juice while Dr. Price started to ask her questions about her medications and insurance.
“I’ll pay out of pocket,” she said when he reached for his prescription pad. “Is there a pharmacy in town?”
“In the grocery store,” Dr. Price said. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Six-ish, I think.”
“This morning? Dylan…”
“I know. I was driving. And I didn’t want to spike my sugar without insulin.”
“You need to eat soon.”
“I’ll get something when I leave here.”
“What does she need?” I asked. “We can make something.”
“Something low carb. Eggs, non-starchy vegetables, chicken, turkey, or fish.”
My gaze slid to Saint, our live-in egg cooker.
“On it,” he said.
“No!” Dylan said, shaking her head. “I can go get something.”
But Saint just ignored that as he went to the fridge. “Can she have cheese?” he asked.
“I don’t want—”
“Wasn’t asking you, babe,” Saint said, shooting her a lazy smile.
“Yeah,” Dr. Price said, looking bemused.
While Saint cooked, Dr. Price tested Dylan again, declared her sugar was up, then packed up his testing kit, tossing thetwo disposable needles into a small red plastic square marked “Sharps.”
“Feeling a little better?” he asked.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Good. Don’t waste time filling your insulin. I gave you a refill for your basal insulin too, in case you don’t have any others on file. Are you in town for a while?”
“For a bit,” she said.
“Well, my name is Dr. Price. And if you need anything, this is where you can find me,” he said, passing her a business card.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little thick.
I imagined she had to be scared shitless when she learned her medication was gone. It wasn’t like it was the kind of thing she could skip. I was no expert, but I was pretty sure people died without insulin.
“Here. I’ll go get these filled,” I said, reaching for the prescriptions on the couch cushion. “I’ll go drop this off, so they get started on it.”
“No, I can—”
“I’m sure you can,” I cut her off. “But you have an omelet to eat. So I’ll drop these off. Then you can pick them up after you eat.”
“Fine,” she agreed. Then, a little more quietly, “Thanks.”
