I snap the jacket from him and dip it around Cadence’s shoulders. She’s trembling. Even though her eyes are closed, her teeth chatter loudly.
Damn. It breaks my freaking heart.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper. Pushing my arms beneath her, I hoist her up from the cold tiles and cradle her limp body against my chest.
I almost slip when I run to the door. Recovering quickly, I keep up the pace and tear through the exits.
My brothers rush after me.
I don’t speak to either of them. My fingers curl into Brahm’s body, giving her as much warmth as I can while running like hell.
When I see the infirmary up ahead, I kick down the door.
The nurse yelps and shoots to her feet. I know how this must look. Me—soaked through to my skin. Cadence—covered in Zane’s jacket, pale, blue and lifeless.
“She needs help!” I bark. Stalking across the room, I gently deposit Cadence on a hospital cot while, behind me, the nurse rushes into action.
“Stand back,” she says, pushing me away so she can inspect Cadence.
I want to snap at her, tell her to work around me, but Finn grabs my arm. Zane takes the other.
My brothers physically restrain me so the nurse can rush around Cadence. When I keep staring, she pulls the curtain so I can’t see anything.
“Shut up,” Finn hisses in my ear before I can protest.
“Let her do her thing,” Zane advises me.
I pace the length of the infirmary. It’s a small space with a couple framed certificates on the wall. Fake plants line the desk. Sunshine bounces through cottage-like windows. It’s way too freaking cheerful for what I’m feeling right now.
Zane sticks a hand into his pockets. He slides me a demanding look. “Was this you?”
“The hell?” I scowl. “Why would I arrange for her to drown and then save her?”
“Last Friday, you said you were going to get drastic,” Zane recalls.
“Is this what you meant?” Finn hisses.
Both my brothers look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I curl my fingers into fists. I’ve done some messed-up things, sure. I’m not going to deny that. I’m no saint. But I’ve never straight up tried to murder anyone.
Before any of us can say another word, the nurse whips the curtains aside. “She’ll be okay.”
The relief that sweeps over me almost collapses my chest.
“But she was very close to danger. If you hadn’t rushed her here,” her expression sobers, “it might have been a different story.”
“Does she need to go to the hospital?” I ask urgently.
“Her body temperature is rising slowly. I’ll give her something warm to drink when she wakes up. I’ll keep monitoring her until then. You can all go to class now. There’s nothing more you can do.”
I stalk forward. “I need to see her.”
“She needs rest—”
“I know that.” My voice is rising and I cringe. Lowering my tone, I say, “I won’t wake her up.”
She purses her lips, thinks about it and then nods.