Chapter 42
Six hours of screaming. We'd dragged Ryder's unconscious body from Courts House, and Killingham made the call to have him committed to the secure wing at Harrowdon Hospital rather than handed over to the police.
Now all we could do was listen to him cycle between rage and despair, his screams echoing down the sterile corridors.
I sat slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the visitor's lounge, my head in my hands. My ribs ached where Ryder had kicked me, a physical reminder of the damage I'd inflicted on our brotherhood. On him. On all of us.
"He's getting worse," Cole said quietly, pacing the small room like a caged animal. "I've never seen him this bad. Not since..."
"Since Celeste," I finished, the name bitter on my tongue. The psychotic bitch who'd nearly destroyed Ryder in our final year of school. The one who'd pushed him to the edge once before.
"Yeah." Cole ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "But this is different. This is... Christ, Logan, I think he really might hurt himself this time." As if on cue, Ryder's voice rose from down the hall, raw and agonised:
"Let me die! Just let me fucking die! I deserve it! I hurt her, I hurt my girl!" I flinched, the words cutting deeper than any knife. Because he was right. We all deserved to suffer for what we'd done to Cade.
"Williams is getting crucified," I said, changing the subject because I couldn't bear to think about Ryder's pain any longer. "Julia's father is in his office right now, demanding Ryder be expelled and charged with assault and attempted murder."
"Fuck Williams. Fuck Julia and her father," Cole spat, his usual calm completely shattered.
"They're the reason we're in this mess. They're the reason Cade-" He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.
The reason Cade was lying in a hospital bed just two floors below us, her back a ruined landscape of our making.
"Aaron Purcell is on his way," I continued, because apparently I was a masochist who enjoyed twisting the knife. "He'll be here within the hour."
"Jesus." Cole stopped pacing, his face going pale. "If he gets custody of Ryder again-"
"I know." Ryder's father was a sadistic bastard who'd used his son's previous breakdown as an excuse to have him institutionalised at Lexington. If he got his hands on Ryder now, in this state. I didn't want to think about it.
"We have to do something," Cole said, resuming his pacing with renewed urgency. "We can't let him be taken back to Lexington. Not after what happened to him there."
"What do you suggest?" I asked, frustration making my voice sharper than intended. "We've tried talking to him. We've tried sedating him. The doctors have tried restraining him. Nothing works."
"There's one thing we haven't tried," Cole said, stopping to look me directly in the eye. "One person who might be able to reach him." My stomach dropped.
"No. Absolutely not."
"Logan-"
"She won't see him," I cut him off. "She won't see any of us. And can you blame her? After what we did?"
"We have to try," Cole insisted, his eyes burning with intensity. "Ryder is fixated on her. He always has been. And now, with the guilt of hurting her, it's eating him alive."
"She hates us," I said flatly. "All of us. But especially me. I'm the one who dragged her into those woods. I'm the one who believed Julia over her."
"And that's exactly why it has to be you who asks her," Cole countered. "If she's going to forgive any of us, it has to start with you. And if she won't do it for you, maybe she'll do it for Ryder."
Another anguished scream echoed down the hall, followed by the sound of something, or someone, hitting a wall with considerable force. The nurses would be sedating him again soon, but it was a temporary solution at best.
"You're the only one she might talk to," Cole pressed, sensing my wavering resolve. "And if you don't try, Ryder might not survive this." The weight of his words settled over me like a shroud. I'd already failed Cadence. Could I live with failing Ryder too?
"Fine," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "But don't expect miracles. She has every right to tell me to go fuck myself." Cole's relief was palpable.
"Just try. That's all I'm asking." I nodded once, then turned and headed for the door.
Each step down the hallway felt like walking to my own execution.
The secure wing was quiet now, Ryder's latest outburst apparently subdued.
Small mercies. The elevator ride to Cadence's floor was interminable, giving me far too much time to think about what I was going to say.
How do you apologise for something unforgivable?
How do you ask for help from someone you've brutalised?
The doors opened with a soft chime, revealing another sterile corridor, this one warmer somehow, designed for healing rather than containment. I approached the nurses' station, where a middle-aged woman with kind eyes looked up from her computer.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Cadence Turner," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Her expression immediately cooled.
"Miss Turner isn't accepting visitors."
"I know," I acknowledged. "But it's urgent. A mutual friend is in crisis, and she may be the only one who can help."
“Name?”
“Logan Bale,” I said, and she looked down at her files. The nurse's eyes narrowed.
"Are you one of them? The boys who did this to her?" I swallowed hard, shame burning in my throat.
"Yes." She looked like she wanted to throw me out personally, but something in my face must have conveyed the desperation I felt.
"Wait here," she said finally, standing. "I'll ask if she's willing to see you. But I won't pressure her, and if she says no, you leave. Immediately. Understood?"
"Understood."
The nurse disappeared down the hall, leaving me to wait in agonising suspense.
I paced the small area in front of the desk, hands shoved deep in my pockets to hide their trembling.
What would I say if she agreed to see me?
What could I possibly say that would make any difference?
The nurse returned several minutes later, her expression unreadable.
"Room 412," she said curtly. "Five minutes. That's all she's giving you." Relief and terror warred within me.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me," she replied coldly. "If it were up to me, you wouldn't get within a hundred feet of that poor girl." I nodded, accepting the rebuke as my due, and headed down the hall. Room 412 was at the far end, the door slightly ajar. I paused outside, gathering what little courage I had left.
The memory of Cadence's screams filled my head, drowning out all other thoughts.
The crack of the whip, the sizzle of burning flesh, the way she'd begged me to believe her.
I'd failed her in every possible way. And now I was about to face the consequences of that failure.
I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated.
What right did I have to ask anything of her?
What right did I have to even look at her after what I'd done?
But Ryder's broken voice echoed in my mind: I hurt my girl. I deserve to die.
I couldn't save Cadence from what we'd already done to her.
But maybe, just maybe, I could save Ryder from himself.
And if that meant facing Cadence's hatred, her disgust, her righteous anger, then that's what I would do.
I knocked softly, then pushed the door open without waiting for a response.
Five minutes. That's all I had to try to undo the damage of a lifetime.
The room was dimly lit; the blinds drawn against the late afternoon sun.
Cadence lay on her side in the hospital bed, facing away from the door.
Her purple hair was spread across the pillow, dull and lifeless compared to its usual vibrancy.
She was wearing a loose hospital gown, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the bulky bandages beneath.
Luce was sitting on her other side, holding her hand and glaring at me with hate.
"The nurse said five minutes," Cadence said, her voice flat and empty. She didn't turn to look at me. "Clock's ticking."
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The words I'd rehearsed in my head evaporated, leaving me speechless in the face of her quiet dignity.