He hopped into his jeans, which were still slightly damp and cold against his skin. He jammed the cuff back into his pocket, wishing he could just throw the damned thing in the garbage, but knowing if he did that, he’d be digging through coffee grounds and banana peels to get it back. He needed this, this torture, for some inexplicable reason. Why couldn’t he let himself be happy for more than one night?

Kellen knew he couldn’t just dart out the door without any explanation. Dawn might think something had happened to him other than him being too fucked up in the head to take what she so generously offered.

He’d leave her a note. Something short and to the point. No sense in drawing out necessary goodbyes.

He went to the piano, where he knew he’d find paper and a pencil. He also found a discarded dress, bits of rope, and the remnants of candles. He didn’t allow himself to think about the night before. Not the way Dawn had looked when he’d lit that first candle and seen her bound and beautiful. Not the way she’d felt surrounding him when he’d been buried inside her that first time. He didn’t even allow himself to touch the piano keys that had produced a melody capable of freeing him for a few short hours. He went straight for a blank piece of score paper and scrawled a hasty note on the back.

Dear Dawn,

Thank you for an entertaining evening. I had to leave early. I wish you well with your new song. I see an Academy Award in your future. Sorry things couldn’t work out between us. Take care of yourself.

Kelly

He frowned at his signature and covered up the y with e-n. He didn’t go by Kelly anymore. It was too frivolous a name for a broken, melancholy man.

Kellen propped the note on the music stand over her keyboard, where she’d be sure to see it, bent to collect a short piece of blue rope from the remnants on the floor, and fled the house. He wished he had a way to lock the door behind him; he didn’t like the thought of leaving her there alone with the door unlocked. Maybe he should have woken her before he fled like a coward, but he didn’t think he’d have been able to do the right thing and leave if she’d offered him so much as a smile. A kiss. An embrace.

Fucking stop!

He avoided looking at Sara’s house as he hurried to the rental car parked in its short driveway. He felt that the house was staring at him and its disapproval weighed heavily on the base of his neck.

He fished the keys out of the center console where he’d hidden them the night before and started the engine. He wished he was driving his faithful Firebird instead of this run-of-the-mill sedan, but at least he had a means of escape. Colorful houses on stilts separated brief glimpses of the ocean as he sped toward the city of Galveston. Quaint housing developments blurred by one after another until he hit a stop light and slammed on his breaks to skid to halt. He had no idea how fast he’d been going, but he was sure the flashing blue lights behind him weren’t a good sign. The officer squawked his siren, and Kellen cringed before taking a right turn at the light to get out of the flow of traffic so he could get his ass chewed properly. He retrieved his wallet and rental car agreement out of the glovebox while he waited for the cop to mosey his way to the car. Kellen rolled down the window, and a blast of warm humidity hit him in the face.

“Where’s the fire, son?” the officer said in greeting.

Kellen forced himself not to roll his eyes. Police officers didn’t seem to like it when he did that.

“How fast was I going?”

“Eighty in a thirty-five.”

He couldn’t even plead the “I forgot to slow down in the town speed zone” argument, as eighty miles per hour would have been speeding even outside of town.

“Sorry about that, I was…” Fleeing an anguished memory and the potential for a bright future. “…distracted.”

“License and proof of insurance.”

“The car’s a rental,” Kellen said, but handed over his driver’s license and the folded-up insurance proof he kept in his wallet.

“Hold tight, Mr. Jamison,” the officer said as he looked over Kellen’s license. “I’ll be back with your citation.”

Kellen wouldn’t argue. He deserved a ticket.

The officer went back to his patrol SUV, while Kellen sat and stewed.

Eventually, the weight of the cuff in his pocket became unbearable. He tugged it out, stared at it for a long moment, and then secured it to his wrist. He wouldn’t be taking it off again. When he took it off, he forgot his promises, made mistakes, potentially hurt people besides himself. He felt his resolve strengthen as soon as the cuff was in place. Wearing it didn’t keep his thoughts from returning to Dawn, but the reminder would keep him from turning this fucking car around and returning to her.

“I’m surprised this is your first ticket,” the officer said from outside Kellen’s window.

Why? Because he was barefoot and shirtless, tattooed and long-haired, or because Toyota Corollas were notoriously fast cars?

“Usually folks who go as fast as you were going make a habit of it.”

“I don’t speed. I just have a lot on my mind this morning.”

“If you hadn’t been going so fast, I’d have let you off with a warning—”

Kellen tugged the ticket and his identification from the officer’s hand. He didn’t feel like shooting the breeze, thanks.

“I understand. Have a nice day,” Kellen said, rolling up his window.

“Watch your speed,” he heard the officer call.

Kellen nodded and shifted the car into drive.

He kept his attention on the road and his speed. It was a lot easier to concentrate on his driving with Sara’s wrist cuff in his peripheral view, reminding him to play by the rules, not take chances, and to love her forever.

He drove the length of Seawall Boulevard on his way to the ferry that would take him to Bolivar Peninsula and bypass the traffic nightmare that often surrounded Houston. It was still rather early, so there were only a few people out on the beaches that bordered the wide roadway. He sat at stop lights, watching pedestrians walk their dogs, parents lug beach gear while attempting to corral their children away from the road, and tourists snap pictures of ordinary seagulls. They all seemed to know where they belonged and what they were doing. Must be nice.

He passed hotel after hotel, restaurant after restaurant, and even a small amusement park that was built on a pier extending over the ocean. The Pleasure Pier. He couldn’t even find enough of a sense of humor to develop a joke about that one. He bet Owen would like to go to a place called The Pleasure Pier, but Owen’s preference wouldn’t be family friendly. A tiny smile felt foreign on his Kellen’s face. He needed to get back to Owen. Owen was the one person who only made him happy and never gave him grief. Kellen was lucky to have someone like Owen in his life, and he desperately needed someone to confide in at the moment.

Kellen followed the road signs to the ferry dock and was glad the line was short. He had no idea how long he’d be stuck on the boat with nothing to occupy his mind while it crossed the wide bay bustling with barge traffic. Maybe he’d have time to call Owen. Just a few minutes’ conversation with him was sure to put Kellen in a better frame of mind. He was about to crawl out of his skin.

He waited until the ferry launched from the dock before removing his seatbelt and leaving the car with cellphone in hand to stand along the railing. He turned on his phone and found he had multiple messages in voicemail. All of them were from Owen. Kellen had told him that he was turning his phone off. He wondered if he’d missed out on anything important the night before or if Owen was just bored because he had no one better to bug when Kellen wasn’t on the bus.

Kellen didn’t bother listening to the voicemails, noting that his phone’s battery was low, and dialed Owen’s number.