Thatcher adjusts his mic in his ear. “I meant what I said in the limo before this trip. I’m going to match whatever pace you set. If you want to break up with me, fine. We’re broken up.” I can’t read him. His tone is more authoritative and impassive than angry. “So that’s it?” I ask, hurt suddenly pinching me. I didn’t purposefully break up with him so he’d fight for me, but I also never thought he’d give me up so easily. “No,” Thatcher replies, seriousness pushing forth. “We’re going to talk more tonight. You’re overwhelmed right now, and I don’t want to push you. But if you think this
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