Padraig stirred the chili and then he shrugged. "I don't give a fuck about the Yank." And he left it there, perhaps implying that he did give a fuck about his George, even if he had a funny way of showing it.
"So you could forgive me, grieve the man you lost, and then learn to live with the one you have," Padraig suggested. He made it sound easy because, of course, he hadn't lost anything really. "And I can work on not hating you since you let me go."