Something funny flashed over Brougham’s expression. “No, totally,” he said. “She wasn’t doing anything wrong. I never meant to say she was. I know I was the one being demanding, it’s obviously okay to take time to yourself. She didn’t owe—”

“Well,” I interrupted. “Not really. Because it’s actually not unreasonable to ask for communication from your girlfriend.”

From the look he gave me, you’d think I’d just told him the ocean was made out of hot chocolate and the grass was peppermint sticks.

“Maybe she has the right to be busy, but when you’re in a relationship with someone you sign up to respect them. She could’ve communicated with you that things were hectic. She could’ve told you when things should be back to normal. In Western society, you know, we value independence so much. But you’re not the bad guy if you want closeness. You weren’t being clingy, or hurting anyone. You just weren’t having your needs met.”

He was gripping the edge of his seat with white knuckles. I wondered if he noticed. “She’s not a bad person.”

“I know. But neither are you.”

Suddenly, his eyes were glassy, and his teeth clenched. It seemed like something I’d said there had struck a chord. I wondered whether Alexander Brougham heard that very often. You’re not a bad person.

Brougham was confusing. It seemed bizarre that the same guy who walked around with a grating level of swagger, proclaiming he was a catch, and intimidating, and knew all there was to know about flirting, could now be so vulnerable and uncertain.

He tipped his head back and took a deep breath, like he was trying to suck the emotions back into hiding. “So, where do I go from here, Coach?”

There was only one option for either of us. “Well, there’s not that much you can do except feel it.”

One eyebrow went up. “Feel it?”

“Just let it out.” I threw my hands up. “Say fuck this, it sucks.”

Because it fucking did. It sucked, it sucked, it sucked.

Brougham stared at me. “You want me to shout, ‘Fuck this, it sucks,’ in the middle of Disneyland? The Happiest Place on Earth?”

Well he didn’t have to say it like that.

Right next to us, the Incredicoaster shot out, and the people riding it let out bloodcurdling screams as they hurtled to their doom in the middle of said Happiest Place on Earth. We were up high enough that the whipping wind ran off with our words as soon as they left our mouths, making us shout to be heard. As weird as it sounded, this was about as private as it could get around here. “There’s too many people screaming for anyone to hear you. Stop stalling. Come on!”

Brougham glanced around us—into midair, I might add—then shifted in his seat. “It sucks,” he mumbled.