Page 24 of Dare to Hold
“Hey, Gray,” Jess calls without looking up. “Thought you were too cool to show up early.”
“Just trying to keep you guessing,” I shoot back, setting my guitar case down by my spot.
From the sound booth, Gabe leans over the railing. “Man, you’re practically whistling. Did you get good news or something?”
I shake my head with a smirk. “Just a good morning.”
That earns me a few raised brows. Across the stage, Molly and Luke—two of our vocalists—share a look before going back to flipping through their sheet music. Caleb keeps up the soft drumbeat like he’s scoring the moment, and I’m not about to give them anything more to speculate about.
I take my guitar out, checking the tuning, and the familiar weight settles in my hands. This—these people, this stage—it’s the one place outside my apartment that feels like home.
We run through the first couple of songs, finding our rhythm without much effort. Between takes, Caleb cracks a joke about Jess’s “overly dramatic intro,” Molly teases Luke about missing his harmony, and Gabe calls for “one more run” even though we all know it’s solid. It’s the kind of banter that’s stitched into every practice—effortless, comfortable, making you lean on without realizing it.
We run the last song twice just to nail the transitions, and Jess finally calls it. “Alright, I’m declaring us officially good enough for Sunday.”
Caleb stretches his arms over his head. “Good enough? We’re amazing.”
I’m winding my cables when the sanctuary doors swing open and Micah—my best friend and the children’s ministry leader here at New Chapter Church—strolls in, a travel mug in hand. “Look at you guys, actually wrapping up on time for once.”
He comes up the aisle, giving me one of those knowing looks. “Why are you smiling so much?”
Before I can answer, Caleb smirks from behind the kit. “Yeah, something’s up with this guy today. He’s practically glowing.”
Molly laughs. “Maybe he finally wrote that love song he’s been pretending isn’t a love song.”
I shake my head, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “You’re all ridiculous.”
Gabe leans over the booth railing. “Sure, man. Keep your secrets.”
I close my guitar case a little harder than necessary, more to hide my grin than anything else.
“Hey, Micah—you got time to chat?”
“Always.”
We leave the team to their teardown and head out of the sanctuary. The halls are alive with the quiet hum of midweek ministry—nursery volunteers wiping down toys in the kids’ wing, the faint smell of glue sticks and goldfish crackers drifting from behind the bright double doors. We pass the row of classrooms where small groups meet. Down another hallway, the café is still open—student-run, the espresso machine hissing as a young woman in a mission’s t-shirt hands off a latte to a smiling woman in scrubs. Every dollar raised goes to send those students across the globe each summer.
The space smells faintly of fresh paint from the last renovation, a reminder of how much this place has grown inthe last few years. New Chapter Church isn’t quite a mega church, but it’s big enough to feel full every Sunday. Still, it’s the kind of place where people remember your name—and for me, it’s the place that changed everything.
If I hadn’t stumbled in here one-night years ago—tired, hungover, looking for nothing but a quiet corner to sit in—I’m not sure where I’d be now. The thought makes my chest tighten. This place gave me a reason to keep going. Gave me Jesus. Gave me a family.
We step into the lobby, the tall windows spilling sunlight across polished floors. A bold navy accent wall anchors the space, the church’s logo stretched across it in crisp white lettering. Leather couches in rich brown line the wall, structured but still soft enough to sink into. I drop into one, letting the cushion ease me back, but my mind is already somewhere else—six days from now, wondering if she’ll actually walk through those doors.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out where to start.
“Okay, so… remember that girl I met in New Orleans?”
Micah smirks. “The one you wouldn’t shut up about for three months? Yeah, I remember.”
“Right. Well, I ran into her this morning. At Royal Brew.” I lean back, my foot tapping against the floor. “She still drinks vanilla lattes with oat milk…and she still does that thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s thinking.”
Micah lets out a low laugh. “Bro, you’re already gone. You remember what she did with her hair?”
I shoot him a look, but I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from lifting. “I’m just saying… it’s not every day you see someone you thought you’d never see again.”
Micah leans back, eyebrows lifting. “And the problem is?”
I shrug, trying to play it off, but my voice gives me away. “I don’t know, man. She’s just—” I shake my head, a half-laugh slipping out. “It’s like I blinked and there she was. The same girl I’ve thought about every day since New Orleans.”
