Page 42 of Bone Dust

“No way.” I spout.

“Yeah, It’s true.”

“Not even when you were a kid?”

“Nope.”

“Spin the bottle? Truth or dare? Any of those games?”

“I started drinking when I was seven years old, so no. You’re the first. I shouldn’t have moved on you like that—especially in front of Gigi—but, I’m not gonna lie; I liked it but it wasn’t right to steal it.”

I sit quietly, dumbfounded. I don’t know how to respond.

“Are you there?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“I’m here. A little shocked, is all.”

“Yeah, well … sometimes truth’s stranger than fiction.” He exhales a vast sigh. “Anyway, I called to apologize. You’re a beautiful woman. I saw what I wanted, and I took it. I’m sorry.”

I breathe in deep and sheepishly roll my eyes “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Don’t you?”

“No. Not always.”

“Take a look in the mirror, Savannah. You’re gorgeous.” He pauses. “So, you forgive me for kissing you?”

I shrug. “I didn’t hate it, Ian.”

“So, you liked it?” I can almost hear the lilt in his voice. His tone pitches to a more upbeat one, and I imagine that sexy lip curl.

“I didn’t say that either,” I say with a lighter tone.

He laughs. “Honestly, you don’t have to say anything.”

"I appreciate that you called, and I appreciate the apology.” I think of something my mother used to say. Until the day comes that you don’t need forgiveness, you can’t not forgive someone else. Convicted by the memory, my tone softens. “It’s water under the bridge, as Sam would say, and let’s be real; I can think of scores of women who would have loved a kiss from you.” Time passes like the ticking of a clock as I head into the living room with the phone to my ear. “Ian?”

“I get what you’re saying but here’s the difference: I respect you. I didn’t them.” His voice fades away.

Any remnant of anger and confusion that lingered from earlier tonight slipped away like a deflating balloon. “Ian?” He doesn’t answer. “Ian? Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so hard on yourself?”

He pauses. “Because I know what I am; a fuck-up. You’re a decent person. I’m not. In fact, the word ‘worthless’ has pretty much been drummed into my head. I wouldn’t blame you if you think so, too.”

I suck in an angry breath. “You’re not worthless.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not as much a screw-up now as I was then, but I have my moments.”

“Who would say something like that?”

“My father. My mother. They guys in the band.” He pauses. “He was never a ‘dad,’ you know? I was young when my mom died and, after she did, he didn’t like me very much. After Dash died, well … I don’t need to tell you the rest. The press took care of that.”

My heart sinks. “I’m sorry for your pain, Ian, and I don’t think you’re worthless.”

“Thanks. It was a long time ago.” There’s a slight tremble in his voice.

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