I can’t see Nate’s face, but the menacing tone in his voice indicates it’s not a request but a command.
Wes tries to laugh it off. "This is perfect. This whole time you've been giving me shit for a bullshit headline and you’ve been staying here with him? Fucking him while I'm in LA working on your film?”
Nate moves in a heartbeat, grabbing Wes by the front of his shirt, and shoving him hard into one of the porch posts. Not hard enough to injure but hard enough to make a point.
Wes's back hits the wood with a solid thud, and Nate's finger comes up, pointing directly in his face.
"You've got five seconds to get in your car."
His voice is deadly quiet.
"And if you're still on my property after that, what happens next is on you."
Wes's eyes are wide. His breath comes faster.
He actually looks scared.
"Because I'm about two seconds away from showing you what happens to men who put their hands on women. And I promise you?—"
Nate leans in closer, his finger still inches from Wes's face, close enough that Wes has to look up to meet his eyes.
"—you don't want that lesson."
The threat hangs in the air, deadly and real. Nate's jaw is tight, the muscle ticking. The restraint it's costing him is visible.
Wes looks genuinely terrified.
"Nate."
My voice is soft, and he immediately glances back at me over his shoulder.
Just a quick look—making sure I'm okay—and in that moment, something in him settles.
Not completely. But enough. He turns back to Wes and takes a deliberate step back.
"Get in your car. Leave. Don't come back."
Each sentence is its own command.
Simple. Direct. Final.
"You can't?—"
"She told you to leave. That's all that matters. Now get the fuck off my property before I stop being polite."
Wes looks at me one more time, trying to find some crack in my resolve.
"Go, Wes," I say. "Just go."
He hesitates, then turns toward his car, muttering something under his breath that sounds like "you'll regret this."
Nate doesn't move.
Just stands there, watching with patient, coiled intensity. Not leaving until Wes is gone and I'm safe.
The car door slams. The engine starts. Gravel sprays as Wes peels out and Nate still doesn't move. Not until the sound of the engine has completely faded into the distance.
Only then does he turn to me, and the hardness in his expression melts away, replaced by pure concern.
