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“I think we need to get you to a hospital,” Simon insisted.
Benny kept shaking his head. “No hospital. No money,” he mumbled. Simon wasn’t sure if anyone except himself heard it.
“Young man, look at me,” Simon said, his voice stern. The boy needed medical attention and that was that.
The boy looked up and Simon saw he had large brown eyes that were filled with both pain and exhaustion.
“I am taking you to get help. Do you understand me?”
Those large doe-eyes filled with tears that didn’t spill. “Yes, sir,” he said softly, then looked down at the hands in his lap.
Simon’s heart, unreliable instrument that it was, lurched. Maybe both of them needed to get to the hospital. “Hudson, can you carry him back to the car?”
Hudson, who looked like he’d played football before taking up driving, grunted his assent then picked Benny up. “No problem. It's not like he weighs anything,” Hudson remarked.
“I can call an ambulance,” the receptionist said. “It’ll just take a minute.”
“We’ll take him in my car to get help. It’ll be faster. Tell this Candida person that she’s not to fire Benny here on any account and that’s coming from Mr. Prince.”
The receptionist nodded, her eyes and mouth wide open. “Yes, sir.”
The lurch in Simon's heart he’d experienced before when Benny said those same words didn’t return. Simon was relieved. There was nothing likely wrong with his heart after all. It was probably just all the excitement. He walked briskly to overtake Hudson and pushed on the button to open the door. As the cold wind and snow enveloped him, he wished he’d carried the boy himself. His arms felt oddly empty as he went to open the Range Rover’s back door.
After making sure the boy was fastened into his seatbelt correctly, Simon got in and took off his coat, spreading it over Benny like a blanket. He took one of his cold hands into his own. “Just breathe slowly and relax. Everything will be okay. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of.” Gently, Simon chafed Benny’s icy fingers. The whole way to the hospital he had to fight the strange but compelling urge to bring the boy’s fingers to his lips and kiss each one.
It was turning out to be a far more exciting day than he’d expected when he’d gotten up that morning.
5
Ben Meets His Prince
Friday, December 15
Northwestern Memorial Hospital
The Loop
Ben woke in darkness and wondered where he was. The mattress crinkled underneath him oddly and he wasn’t wearing sweats, which he usually slept in during winter. He moved his hand to touch the blanket covering him and found there was an IV in his hand. There was beeping in the room as well that he’d somehow tuned out until now. He was in a hospital and he didn’t know how he'd gotten there, and worse, how he’d end up paying for any of it.
His memories of the previous day were fuzzy at best and largely jumbled. He’d been at work, yes. He didn’t remember Candida giving him his assignment but it wasn’t surprising to remember sweeping the pavement while snow blew around him. It wasn’t one of those soft snows, either. This one was more ice than snow, like tiny drops of hail falling from the sky. Had he fallen asleep out there? Maybe he’d just fallen. He knew he’d been dreaming because Silver Fox had been there, holding him close, looking concerned. That couldn’t be a real memory. He must have slipped and fallen and hit his head on the pavement. Someone had called 911 and now he was here in the hospital with crappy insurance and a scary deductible.
Ben recalled someone at work saying they’d been in the hospital and hadn’t had to pay because the social worker there recommended he be one of the hospital’s charity cases. Maybe Ben could work something out like that. Or a payment plan. Or maybe they needed cleaning staff. He could eternally work off the debt until he died. That thought made him huff with laughter, which he immediately regretted as soon as he started coughing and couldn’t seem to stop. He closed his eyes and tried to ride it out, hoping he’d be able to stop soon.
Ben felt a large, warm hand stroke his hair. “Let me see if I can get a nurse.”
Trying to quiet his coughing, Ben opened his eyes but couldn’t quite make out who the person was. All he could see when the man opened the door to the room was his silhouette against blindingly bright light and then darkness again when the door closed. Ben closed his eyes again and attempted to breathe shallowly. That seemed to help a little.
After a short time, the door opened again and someone switched on a light in his room. Ben opened his eyes to see a plump, frowning woman looking at his monitors.
“His oxygen is a little on the low side,” she said, “but not dangerously so. I’ve already notified the RT. They’ll most likely give him some albuterol.”
“What’s an arty?” Ben asked, extremely confused.
“Respiratory therapist.” A knock sounded on the door and it was opened by a young woman in scrubs. “And here she is, speak of the devil.”
Playfully the young woman stuck her tongue out at the nurse then turned to Ben with a smile. “Having a hard time breathing?”
“Not exactly,” Ben confessed. He hoped the woman wouldn’t get upset because she wasn’t needed. “I just cough a lot.” Right on cue, he had another coughing spasm. “Like that,” he said when he was able.
