Page 144 of Dare to Hold
The tears come before I can stop them. Big, quiet sobsthat shake my shoulders as I clutch the journal to my chest. I ache. Ache for him. For his arms around me, for the way his hugs made the world feel safe. I miss him so much it physically hurts, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without that comfort.
Chapter 36
Ivy
Sunday morning hums through my apartment, the sound of worship music spilling from my phone speaker and bouncing off the walls. I’ve got the volume cranked just high enough to drown out my nerves, letting the lyrics anchor me as I move around the room.
The mirror reflects a girl who almost looks put together—a soft cream sweater dress that skims just above my knees, a pair of brown boots, and gold hoop earrings that Harper swore would “class up any outfit.” My hair is loose except for one side pinned back, simple but enough to feel intentional. It’s not glamorous, not perfect, but it feels like fall.
I smooth my hands over the knit fabric and take a steadying breath. Today is the Thanksgiving service. And I want to be ready—not just on the outside.
Then my eyes fall to the small gold bracelet lying on the dresser. I pick it up, fingers tracing the inscription I know by heart:1 Corinthians 13:13.
And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Gray gave me this when I got my part time job on the church design team—when I was still figuring out who I was, what I believed, where I belonged. He said he loved me that day, but I had loved him long before he said it.
I hesitate, fingers lingering on the clasp. We’re not together. Not right now. But this reminder of him, of the way he’s always seen me, supported me, loved me without asking for anything in return—it feels like grace.
I fasten the bracelet around my wrist, the metal cool against my skin, and meet my own gaze in the mirror.
God, I really miss him.
The ache is so deep it steals my breath.
And I know I can’t go another day without saying it. Without telling him what’s been true all along.
I spot Harper’s bright red hair before I even make it to the front doors. Olivia’s beside her, holding two travel mugs.
“Saved you one,” Olivia says as I walk up, handing me a cup with a little smile.
I blink. It hits me all at once—that’s the first time I’ve seen her smile at church. Not her polite, go-through-the-motions kind of smile. A real one, small but genuine.
“Thanks,” I say, fingers brushing hers as I take the cup. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”
We fall into step together, the hum of conversation around us as people filter through the doors. It feels easy—comfortable in a way it didn’t used to. I sip my coffee and let myself enjoy the moment. The warmth. Their laughter. The steady rhythm of footsteps carryingus toward the auditorium where the doors are open wide.
Harper tugs my sleeve, voice hushed. “Um…okay, this place is packed.”
She’s right. The rows are already full, people squeezing in where they can, coats being shrugged off and draped across laps. A few ushers stand near the back, gently guiding people toward open spaces.
One of them spots us and waves us forward. “There’s room near the front.”
I blink. “Like…front, front?”
“I’m not sitting that close,” Olivia says, her eyes wide with a mix of horror.
Harper shrugs with a grin. “I don’t think we have any other option Liv.”
We weave down the aisle, the sanctuary buzzing softly with conversation, organ music drifting in the background. I catch glimpses of familiar faces—volunteers I’ve worked with, friends from around town, older couples dressed in their best.
And then we slip into a row, just three rows from the front.
I glance up at the stage. The worship team is gathering, adjusting microphones, tuning instruments. My breath catches when I spot his guitar resting against a stool.
Gray.
Seeing that guitar so close—knowing he’ll be just a few feet away after all these weeks—makes my pulse skip, my hands tremble slightly as I smooth my dress over my knees.
