Page 33 of Disciplinary Action
“No, Daddy.”
“Are you certain?” Gideon asked, his heart in his stomach.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Then you tell the educator what you really want so we can go home. Okay?”
Cal nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I understand you not wanting to trust me or anybody else, but I’m not out to hurt you. I’m really not.”
“Sometimes, it’s not about what you mean to do,” Cal muttered, deflating into Gideon’s arms and pressing his face into his neck.
“No, I suppose it’s not.”
Cal dozed the whole way home, emotionally exhausted from the heated exchange he’d had, first with the educator and then with Gideon. Knowing he’d have what he needed regardless of whether he slept with Gideon or not should have made him feel better, but it made him feel worse, like some kind of charity case or project. Maybe Gideon would consider it a loan? Like, once Cal finished college and had a job, he could start paying Gideon back. If he could get a job. He imagined having a father with a prison record wouldn’t be a big selling feature. Would people know who he was just by name alone?
He’d already sent out his college applications, making certain to scrub his social media and anything else that connected him with his father, but he wondered if the school would sabotage his chances? They’d already tried to have him kicked out. If it wasn’t for Gideon… Cal didn’t want to think about that.
Gideon parked in the parking garage not thirty feet from where Cal had slept just a week ago. Once inside, they spoke with the desk, and Gideon requested a card so Cal could access the back entrance and Gideon’s door, letting them know Cal would be staying indefinitely. Indefinitely. Cal liked that word. He could have just said the month.
Once upstairs, Gideon unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so Cal could enter before him. Gideon set the plastic bag filled with Cal’s meager belongings and medications on the side table.
“Shoes off,” Gideon said, slipping out of his shoes.
Cal did the same, lining up his sneakers beside Gideon’s expensive Italian loafers. Gideon took Cal’s hand and led him to the massive closet that lined the wall beside the bed. He hadn’t noticed it last time he was there. He’d been far too preoccupied with remembering the rules. Inside, the massive closet had been split into two sections. The larger portion contained Gideon’s things, suits and casual clothes, all color-coordinated, rows of shoes neatly stacked in boxes. But a small portion of the closet contained three school uniforms, jeans and t-shirts, sweaters, and even a jacket. There were three pairs of shoes stacked in their own boxes. Gideon pulled open a drawer to show Cal socks and underwear and clothing suitable for sleeping and working out.
Cal’s eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back rapidly. He was so grateful, but part of him shriveled up inside—not because he didn’t want to be there but because he felt unworthy. He hadn’t done anything to earn any of this. Still, he couldn’t help but say, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. There are rules in this house. I expect you to abide by them. Everything has a place. I need to keep the house organized. Shoes come off when you get inside. If you change your clothes, your dirty clothes go in the hamper. If you dirty a glass or plate, you rinse it and it goes in the dishwasher. Our housekeeper, Lu, comes twice a week but not to clean up after us. We’re not here to make her job harder, understood?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Cal said.
“You can call me Gideon when we’re not in the bedroom if it makes you more comfortable,” Gideon said casually.
“Would it make you more comfortable?” Cal asked, genuinely unsure.
Gideon stopped what he was doing to gaze down at Cal. “No. As long as we’re alone, you can call me Daddy. I like hearing that word on your lips.”
“Good,” Cal murmured almost to himself. For some reason, calling Gideon Daddy made him feel less like he was taking advantage and more like Gideon genuinely wanted to take care of him. It didn’t exactly make much sense but Cal didn’t care.
“Sit on the bed. Check your blood sugar and make sure you don’t need to bolus. I have one more thing for you. I’ll be right back.”
Part of Cal didn’t want anything more from Gideon, but another part smiled at Gideon using a word like bolus. He’d clearly been studying. He synced his phone with his glucose monitor, relieved to find himself still in range.
Gideon sat beside him, handing him a long black velvet box, like from a jewelry store. Cal frowned but took it, opening it to find a thick silver-linked bracelet with a wide rectangular plate. It was a medical ID bracelet, alerting anybody who saw it that Cal was a Type 1 diabetic.
Gideon took the bracelet from the box. “Give me your wrist.”
Cal did as Gideon instructed, shivering at the feel of the cool metal against his wrist. Once in place, Gideon used a small tool to lock it before attempting to pull it past Cal’s arm, seeming relieved when it wouldn’t pass. “This only comes off with this.” He held up the small tool. “Which means I’m the only one who can remove it. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy.”
“I don’t know how many more times I can thank you.”
Gideon tugged Cal to him. “I didn’t do this for you. I did it for me. I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened to you if you hadn’t had my number saved in your phone. Now, I know nobody can take this from you without effort and that if something happens to you, it will be me they call.”
