Page 66 of Nitro

My best friend lay injured because of me. I owed him an apology, but I needed to get past Dylan’s mate first.

I hesitated. Should I set the tray down first, then knock? I was probably overthinking this, I decided.

After another deep breath, I opted to place the tray down first. Finally, I brought my knuckles to the door and rapped gently.

The hollow sound echoed in the corridor, and I tensed, waiting for a response.

What were the chances that Whizz wasn't in? That would certainly make things a lot easier.

Lady luck seemed to have taken a day off, as Whizz opened the door, and his scowl made it clear that he wasn't thrilled to see me.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, his tone less than welcoming. "Dylan's resting."

The old version of me would have stammered out lame feeble excuse and made a hasty retreat.

However, the newer, bolder me wasn't about to let Whizz's surly attitude deter me.

I straightened my posture and met his gaze.

"I brought breakfast. Thought Dylan might appreciate something to lift his spirits," I replied, picking up the tray.

I hoped that would be enough to convince him. It wasn’t.

"My mate is only in this state because of you," Whizz said with narrowed eyes.

I swallowed, the weight of guilt settling in my stomach. Of course, Whizz knew everything by now.

His job was to gather information for the MC, and he was exceptionally good at it.

"Yeah, I know," I admitted, meeting his gaze without flinching. "That's why I'm here. I need to talk to him, apologize, and make things right."

Whizz's expression remained stern, but he stepped back, allowing me entrance into the room.

As I walked past him, I couldn't shake the feeling that Whizz was watching me intently. Ignore him, I told myself.

It was Dylan I was here to see. The walk to the bedroom felt longer than usual, but I finally made my way there.

Dylan was sitting up, his eyes glued to the TV. Spotting me, he flashed a wide smile. At least he seemed glad to see me.

Relief filled me, washing away some of the guilt I carried. I was worried he'd be angry with me, just like his mate.

I should've known better—my best friend didn't hold grudges.

"You came," Dylan said, a weak smile playing on his lips.

"I promised I would," I answered, setting the tray down beside him.

"What did you bring me? I'm starving," Dylan added, his eyes eagerly scanning the contents of the tray.

Dylan noted all of my offerings were his favorites—pancakes, runny eggs, and apple ham.

He looked up at me with genuine gratitude.

"Thanks, Tommy. You remembered all my favorites," Dylan said, a warm smile on his face.

He gestured towards the tray. "Want to share? I might not be able to finish everything, and it all looks too good to waste."

I took a seat beside him, offering a smile in return.