Chapter 8

“You don’t have to do that,” said Lance. “I’m not a kid. I can get myself home.”

“It’s not about that,” said Bradley.

But Lance’s voice grew firmer. “Don’t bother. It’s a lot of time out of your day. I have to go now—being told I’m late again.”

“Love you,” said Bradley, but he didn’t know if it got through. The call had ended.

He pulled his phone from his ear, pocketed it, and stared at the river for a time. Lance had never been an overly affectionate person, but his calls had gotten increasingly short over the days; his temper, too. Bradley knew him to get this way when he was stressed—and he imagined this trip was stressful—but it wore on him. Usually even when he was grumpy Lance would go out with him, have sex, eat a meal with Bradley. There was no opportunity for him to do that while overseas, which was probably where the heightened tension was coming from. Still, it ruined Bradley’s mood. Even the sounds of people enjoying the farmers’ market didn’t seem to touch him.