Page 112 of Dare to Hold
I feel reverence.
This isn’t a story driven by impulse. It’s one built on choice.
And tonight, we chose something better.
Even if it’s harder.
Even if it aches a little.
Because maybe that’s what love really is—doing what’s right not because you have to…but because they’re worth it.
Because He is.
Because we are.
Chapter 28
Gray
It’s been seven days since Ivy and I looked each other in the eye and agreed—we couldn’t be alone in her apartment anymore. Or mine. Not if we wanted to keep our promises to God.
I told her it was the right choice. And I meant it. Still do.
But tonight, sitting here in my quiet living room with the TV off and the silence pressing in, I can’t help wishing she were curled up beside me. No expectations. No lines crossed. Just her head on my shoulder, her laugh breaking up the dark.
I grip the edge of the couch cushion and shake my head. Who am I kidding? That’s exactly how it starts. A little closeness. A little comfort. And before I know it, I’m pushing the line I swore I’d never cross.
So instead of calling her, I pray.
Lord, give me strength when everything in me wants to take the easy way. Teach me that honoring You means trusting You…even with this ache.
I lean back, staring at the ceiling. My chest feels tight,like I’m holding my breath even though I’m not. This is harder than I thought it would be. Not because I don’t want purity. But because I’ve never wanted someone the way I want her.
I rub a hand over my face, dragging it down like I could scrape the ache away. The silence presses in harder, mocking me. My apartment’s too clean, too quiet, like it’s waiting for me to finally admit I hate being here alone.
I can practically see Ivy stretched out on the couch across from me, her feet tucked beneath her, hair falling across her shoulder as she smiles at something on TV. She’d probably roll her eyes at whatever documentary I picked, then end up loving it halfway through. I can almost hear her laugh—soft and surprised.
The thought guts me. Because I don’t just want to kiss her. I don’t just want her curled into me. I want her here. Shoes by the door. Coffee mug on the counter. Her presence filling the cracks in this place that always feels like it’s missing something.
I push off the couch, pacing. One step, two. My pulse thuds louder than my footsteps. Don’t think about it. Don’t dwell on it. But the more I tell myself that, the louder the ache becomes.
I stop at the window, looking out at the streetlights painting the parking lot in dull yellow. Cars come and go, couples disappearing inside their apartments, lights flicking on in warm squares across the building. And here I am, stuck in the dark, wishing I could have what they have without the guilt clawing at me.
My chest tightens again. I drop onto the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.God, I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.
The silence doesn’t answer back.
My gaze snags on the guitar leaning in the corner, like it’s waiting for me. I cross the room and pull it into my lap, fingers curling over the neck like they remember what to do even when my head doesn’t. The first strum vibrates through me, grounding me.
I start with something aimless—just chords, nothing that means anything. But before I know it, the melody that spills out is the one that’s been haunting me for weeks. The one I can’t seem to finish.
Her melody.
I close my eyes, letting the notes rise and fall. Soft at first, then steadier, clearer. It feels like prayer and temptation tangled into one. Words hover on my tongue, half-formed lines I’ve scribbled in notebooks and napkins. I sing them under my breath, quiet, almost afraid to let them out.
Every step, every prayer, every night I wondered
If I was enough, if I’d lose my way
