Page 123 of The Golden Hour

To the blood on her dress, the blood coating his hands.

To his wife dying and him begging her to stay.

“I chose my fucking job over my wife and daughter—my life! And they almost died because of it,” he sneers at himself, like the Mason all those months ago is standing in front of him. “Because I was too concerned with other patients, with praise, with saving lives when I had the most important ones that needed me!”

Mason buries his face in his hands as he sobs into them, completely breaking apart in this room full of strangers and his father.

It is like the pressure cork on his emotions finally blows. Everything he has been feeling and burying, feeling and burying, for the last two months comes free-flowing out of him. His shoulders hitch violently with his sobs, but it feels necessary.

It feels like a release.

“What is wrong with me?!” Mason screams, the sound muffled by his hands. “Why did I do that? Why?!”

From every angle, hands land on his shoulders, his back, his head. When he glances up, he sees everyone gathered around him. Every single one of them has an expression of deep understanding. Recognition.

Mac softly laughs and squeezes his shoulder.

“You’re asking the same questions we all asked when we realized that we have problems, kid.”

“But why didn’t we see it when it was happening?” Mason asks helplessly, looking at his father.

“That’s a damn good question,” Rob smiles at Mason, rubbing his back.

“It’s kind of like quicksand,” Miguel says, his deep voice carrying a warm accent. Mason snaps his gaze to him. “You know you have a problem. You know you’re messing up. But you struggle. You make excuses. You blame others. You tell yourself you’re not harming anyone, that no one is getting hurt. But you are, and they are. The harder you fight against admitting it, the deeper you sink into the addiction. It just takes you and pulls you down…”

Mason swallows, feeling like a raw nerve.

“But when you stop resisting, and you lie back, and you finally admit that you are an addict,” Miguel says with a small smile, “it stops pulling you. But that is only one step to fixing the issue.”

“What are the other steps?” Mason asks.

Mac stands before Mason and extends his hand.

Mason looks at it for a long moment before placing his hand in Mac’s, only to be yanked up roughly into a hug.

“By asking for help,” Mac rumbles, slapping his back.

Mason feels surrounded by people who understand, who see him, who know what he’s feeling.

He lets out a deep breath.

He lies back.

And he stops struggling.

“Mason.”

Mason groans at Honey’s soft whisper.

“Five more minutes, baby…” he mumbles. “’m off today…”

“Mason,” the whisper sounds a little more amused, and then he feels a poke in his side.

It all snaps into place in a second.

His eyes open and meet Honey’s, the dark brown of them twinkling in the low light spilling out of her bedroom. There is a small grin curving her lips, and as he blinks himself awake, he takes a moment to just…

Look at her.