Page 47 of Bone Dust

“No one’s ever dedicated a song to me, much less written one. I don’t know what to say.”

“As long as you like it, there’s nothing to say. Whenever I sing it, it will bring memories of last night.”

“It reminds me of someone. Someone special.”

His comment catches me off guard until he elaborates.

“It’s my mom.” Emotion catches his voice and a groan seeps through the words. “She used to sing sweet songs like that.” He pauses. “You’d think grief would lose its sting after a while, but it doesn’t. The stings turn into sucker punches. It’s usually something simple. A scent. A sunny day. There’s no rhyme or reason. The memory takes your mind down roads you haven’t traveled in a while. I guess that’s the price you pay for loving someone with all that’s in you; you lose them, and reliving memories of them is the most bittersweet pain your heart can bear.”

I tread those same heartfelt waters and, just like Ian, can easily get caught in the undertow. “I know. I feel them too sometimes—about my mom and dad.” The tugging in my chest prompts me to offer comfort and lift the veil of sadness from his eyes, but I hold back. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ian.”

He nods, carefully sniffing back his feelings. “The song’s beautiful and means more to me than you know. Thank you—and Gigi.”

I turn away to spare him from staying too long with his memories, but he stops me by touching my arm. I’m captivated by his tender expression, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“My Momma used to say a song could make you feel better, and your singing always feels like a healing to me.”

His words touch something deep inside and, when his hand falls away, I stay. I can’t explain the depth of emotion he wears. It speaks words he cannot. I raise my hand to his cheek. The barely visible stubble is abrasive against my skin causing goosebumps to skitter up my arm. The rush hits my belly then travels to other places. I’m like a kid on a carnival ride, excited and afraid at the same time. This connection? It’s something we’d do well to avoid, but it’s something for which we both thirst, and I savor it, even if just for this moment. It appears he does too. We’ve both been scarred by love and know all too well that tender moments like this don’t last.

“I hope one day you find your way back to music. You’re good. Really good.”

“I can’t see that happening but thank you.”

“Just think about it. There’s something about music that washes the dust off your soul and tethers us to times and places that let our souls breathe.”

He sucks in a breath and smiles as he exhales. “You’re an amazing woman, Savannah Grace, you know that?”

I note the tremble in his voice and give him a sweet look. “My friends call me Savi.”

A wide smile appears on his full lips, enhancing his looks. Ian is handsome yet doesn’t seem to know. The cockiness with which he made his fortune with the band Boundless Hearts is gone, and in its place is a gentler look. His eyes are tender, warmer, as he holds my gaze, and the flutter in my chest explodes, releasing joy inside of me that feels like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. I can’t deny my attraction to him. It resurrects feelings I harbored in my younger years but more adult and mature. Back then my hormones dictated my response and now it’s the inner stature of the man that attracts me. His kindness balances equally with his body and I’m drawn to his personality just as much as the broad shoulders filling his inky black tee shirt. My thoughts drift as my gaze travels to his muscular chest and trim waist, clear evidence of the work he’s put in at the ranch. The worn and faded blue jeans hug his toned legs like a second skin and I can’t stop staring. This new life has been good for him, and I don’t need to wonder if the near-death experience has changed him in more ways than he realizes. It has and I’m brazen, taking in this simple man with a beautiful soul.

I’m suddenly hot. The warmth I felt climbing up my neck now has me fully flushed. There’s a fraction of space between us and the distance has me breathing in a musky fragrance of shampoo or cologne. I lean in just a little and breathe in a bit deeper. A quick glance around reveals that Sam’s disappeared and I relish the silence. We’re the only people in the room yet it feels bigger than that; more impressive. Like we’re the only people in the world. The only sound breaching the bar is the buzzy, white noise, and hum from the air conditioning. He’s captured me with his tender expression, one, I’m certain, most of the world has never seen.

He steps to my side, draping a relaxed arm around my shoulders as he walks me to a table. It’s more a friendly gesture than a romantic one and feels completely non-threatening. When he pulls out a chair, I take a seat, and Ian crouches down in front of me, looking up at me with a tranquil expression. “Savannah?—”

“Savi,” I correct.

He nods, tips his chin, and takes my hand as he looks into my eyes, and I melt.

“Savi … inside and out, you’re the most beautiful person I think I’ve ever known.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ian

Idon’t know how to explain what happens to me when Savannah smiles. It’s such a simple act that has such a profound effect. It almost sounds cliché to describe the feeling as if walls are crumbling. I’d been angry for so long that with each passing year, another brick was cemented around me until I was no longer defensive but numb. But this … this feeling. It’s foreign and sweet. Savi smiles and suddenly I long for something I can’t understand.

Most people would think that it’s always the band members who take advantage of women who hang around after concerts. That we’re the bad guys. The rock stars. The guys all the girls want to fuck. But there’s another side to that scenario. I’d never profess to be an innocent lamb, but more times than not a gorgeous chick with a hefty rack and a full, firm ass found me long before I went looking. Even as tempting as that might sound, there are other dangers that come with that piece of ass, and I’m not just talking about disease. I’m referring to the Benjamins.

One of the things I learned by being in a band was that there are opportunists around every corner. A frisky fuck with a rockstar conjures dollar signs in some of the most beautiful eyes. Most women were thrilled to have the memory, while others wanted more. Secret babies. Tabloid headlines. Tell all stories. All it took was a little dirt, curious reporters, and a gossip-thirsty public. I never cared, but Dash did. He always thought everything through with a level head—then he’d keep me out of trouble. Or, at least, try.

I didn’t know it then but there was a kid inside of me who was looking for love. Rehab required therapy, and that taught me just how jaded I’d become. I had a deep-seated belief that everybody—no exceptions—wants their fifteen minutes of fame.

Not Savannah.

She wants nothing and gives everything. The beautiful blue-eyed blonde scatters love like stardust. I’ve witnessed her concern and care for those she loves. That song … it was perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

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