“It’s okay, Nate,” she croaks. “Go back to Gwen.” “Are you sure? He’s in his crazy mode right now.” She doesn’t break eye contact with me, her chin rising. “I can handle him.” You fucking wish, sweetheart. Nate leans in to whisper in my ear, “Your jealousy is irrational, nonsensical, and has a margin of error the size of the Pacific Ocean. Question my devotion to my wife again and I’ll be the one to fucking kill you.” And then, he leaves us alone with one last shake of his head.
