A blaze of jealousy filled him—for their time together, their secrets. But then he stopped. He was too hungry, too tired, too alone, for that kind of bullshit. He knew as well as they had that no one had ever asked him to leave them alone. It had always been his choice. He’d been scared of the lush ease of their early intimacy, then, later, scared he’d appear ignorant. At the end, scared of what he’d hear.
