Page 124 of Dare to Hold
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I turn to leave, my pulse pounding. “I’ve got rehearsal.”
“Gray.”
I pause.
Micah’s voice is calm, but firm. “Don’t let fear talk louder than grace. You’ve come too far for that.”
I nod once, tight, and head down the hall.
But the weight of it doesn’t lift.
If anything, it presses harder.
Because what if Micah’s right?
And worse—what if I can’t stop myself from proving him wrong?
The notes should feel like they belong—stacked perfectly, flowing seamlessly, like a river running smooth and sure. But today? Everything is jagged and offbeat.
I run my hands through my hair, gripping the ends alittle too tight as I watch the team try to pull it together. Caleb is a half-second behind on the drums. The harmonies are tripping over each other, flat in one spot, sharp in another. My teeth clench.
“All right, hold up!” I snap, louder than I intended. Everyone stops, instruments trailing off into an awkward silence. A few of them exchange glances, uncertain. “We’re losing the rhythm, guys. Drums, you’re coming in late. Keys—you’ve got to hold that note for another count before you transition. And, Molly…” I look back, her eyes wide. “You’re rushing the verse. Slow it down. Let it breathe.”
Her cheeks flush, and she nods quickly, adjusting the mic stand even though it doesn’t need adjusting. My stomach twists, but I press on. “Let’s run it from the top.”
The guitarist, Chris, clears his throat. “We’ve been running it from the top for the last thirty minutes, Gray.”
I swallow hard, jaw locked tight. “And we’re going to keep running it until we get it right.”
An uneasy tension ripples through the room. Usually, rehearsal is light, even fun. But right now, it feels like a pressure cooker ready to blow. I grip the edge of the music stand, knuckles white. I know I’m pushing. I know I’m making it tense. But I can’t stop.
“Again,” I bark out, nodding to Caleb. He hesitates before tapping the sticks together to count us off.
We get four bars in before the harmony slips. Molly misses her cue, her voice faltering on the word grace.
My hands slam down on the music stand. The crash echoes through the sanctuary. “Stop!”
Silence. Thick and heavy. No one meets my eyes.
I rub my hands over my face again, fingers pressing into my temples. “Five-minute break. We’ll...we’ll try again.”I don’t wait for their responses. I turn and shove open the side door, the cool hallway air hitting me like a slap.
The door swings shut behind me, muffling the whispers I can already hear starting up. I pace the narrow corridor, hands on my hips, breath coming in shallow bursts. I press my back against the wall, sinking down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled up.
What is wrong with me?
This isn’t me. I’m not the guy who slams music stands or snaps at Molly for singing too fast. But it’s like something is clawing at my insides—this relentless need for everything to be perfect. To go smoothly. To be in control.
But it’s not just about rehearsal, and I know it.
My hands rub over my face again.Lord, I don’t want to be that person. Not again.
The hallway is silent except for the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the soft echo of someone’s footsteps. I don’t look up until they stop right in front of me.
“You good?”
