Page 53 of Dare to Hold
Something cracks open in my chest.
It’s not a tear, not a breakdown. Just this sudden, gentle ache.
Like someone just whispered:this is for you.
The song builds one final time—Gray’s voice rising, steady and sure, like a prayer he’s already lived through. And when the last note fades, the room is still, hearts full.
Everyone begins to sit.
Everyone but me.
I’m frozen in place, the weight of the lyrics still pressing down on me.
I glance toward the stage and find him already watching me.
Gray meets my gaze and gives the tiniest wave, his lips curved into a soft smile like he knows. Like somehow, he knows exactly how I am feeling.
My heart stumbles.
I wave back without meaning to, and it hits me how visible I am right now, how obviously wrecked I must look.
Harper gently tugs my sleeve. I blink, glancing around to realize I’m the only one still standing.
My cheeks flush hot as I quickly plop down into my seat.
Harper leans in, voice low but warm. “What was that?”
I nod, breathless. “Just…got caught up for a second.”
She smiles like she gets it.
“Oh Ivy, you’ve got it bad,” she smirks. “I am so here for this.”
But maybe it’s not just Gray I’ve got it bad for. Maybe it’s this thing called the Holy Spirit that people keep talking about.
Chapter 14
Ivy
We end up back at Harper’s place, her tiny apartment on the third floor of a brick building that smells faintly of fresh paint and laundry detergent. The sun filters through gauzy curtains, casting warm stripes of light across the hardwood floor. Harper kicks off her shoes the second we walk in, adding to the pile of shoes in her front entryway.
“Okay, brunch was a ten out of ten,” she declares, flinging her purse onto the nearest chair with a dramatic sigh, “but I am desperate for caffeine. I used all my energy deciding between that fiddle leaf fig and my new cactus.”
“You really made that poor cashier hold both for like twenty minutes,” I tease, slipping off my own shoes and curling up on her couch. “I’m surprised he didn’t charge you a plant indecision fee.”
She waves me off. “Art requires time. You want a coffee?”
“Sure,” I say, leaning back and letting the comfort of the afternoon settle over me.
The smell of fresh coffee wafts from her Keurig, and she popsopen a cabinet to rummage for snacks. “Olivia should be here soon. I texted her.”
I glance at my phone, surprised. “You convinced her to come over?”
“Yes, she’s coming to hang out but insisted we don’t bring up the church thing.” Harper’s voice is muffled behind the pantry door. “But I’m working on it.”
I laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Olivia hasn’t been very thrilled by me going to church, and now Harper. It’s strange how against it she is. Part of me wants to press her and find out why, but I have a feeling I should give her some space.
