108
Mason's POV
Regret was a funny thing. You thought you'd hit rock bottom, but then it dug a little deeper, carved out a hole beneath your feet, and dragged you down even further. Right now, I was drowning in it.
I stood outside Bethany's hospital room, staring at the door like it was a damn execution chamber. Maybe it was. Maybe I deserved to be ripped apart for what I did to her.
The scent of antiseptic stung my nose, and the steady beeping of machines echoed in my ears. The pack's doctor had assured me she'd recover, but those words didn't mean shit when I saw her through the glass window—small, fragile, bruised.
Bruised because of me.
I forced myself to step inside, each footfall heavier than the last. The moment I crossed the threshold, the air changed. The warmth in the room disappeared, replaced by a cold, stony silence.
Bethany didn't look at me.
