Page 11 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

A guitar strums softly. A bass thrums low. A drum taps out a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat.

And then I hear it, a voice I know, one that has been living in the corners of my mind all week.

“Good morning, everyone. It’s a great day to praise the Lord. Let’s stand and worship together.”

Gray.

I look up, and there he is standing on stage, guitar strapped across his chest, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

Gray starts singing an upbeat tune. The others on stage stand to his sides, but he’s right in the middle, clearly leading the singing. Is he the lead singer? I wonder, watching him with quiet awe.

I’ve only seen him in person twice, but now I watch as he sings with everything he has. His voice is raw and full of soul, pouring out a melody that sends shivers down my spine.

The first song is lively and seems to make the whole room move. The woman I followed sways gently from side to side, eyes closed, hand raised, lost in the music .

Then the tune shifts. The next song is softer, more intimate. I lean in, listening closely to the lyrics that seem to fill the space around me and fill something inside me, too.

A few people nearby raise their hands, eyes lifted toward the ceiling. I feel an unfamiliar warmth rise in my chest, a swelling emotion I can’t quite name.

The words wrap around me like a whispered promise. I blink back tears, overwhelmed by the feeling of being seen, heard, and maybe even understood.

Here in Your light, I’m found, not lost,

More than I knew, worth every cost.

You see me whole, beyond my pain,

In Your love, I’ll never be the same.

As the last note lingers and fades, a hush settles over the room.

The lyrics echo in my mind, strange and personal, like someone reached inside me and put words to feelings I’ve barely admitted to myself.

It’s like they saw the parts I keep hidden and suddenly I’m not so alone.

My chest tightens, a bittersweet warmth spreading through me, and it takes all of me to hold back the tears I didn’t expect.

Then another man steps onto the stage as the band quietly slips away.

“Good morning New Chapter Church family! Turn and say hi to those around you,” he says warmly, inviting connection.

A wave of panic crashes over me. My heart hammers against my ribs as I freeze, the vulnerable openness I felt moments ago retreating fast like a tide pulling away from shore.

But then, faces turn toward me, smiles full of kindness and welcome. A woman nods with genuine warmth; a man offers a soft wave. Slowly, almost without thinking, I return their greetings. The genuine friendliness surprises me, softening the tight coil of nerves in my chest.

“Alright, alright,” he says, motioning for everyone to sit. “If you’ve got your Bibles, open up to Matthew chapter six…”

I freeze for a second. I don’t have a Bible. Was I supposed to bring one? My gaze darts around—some people are flipping pages; others just watch the pastor like they’ve heard this voice a hundred times. I’m not the only one empty-handed, so I let out a small breath.

The pastor’s voice is steady. “Today we’re talking about worth and grace.

About finding light… even when life feels heavy.

” He pauses, then reads, “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

I sink into my seat, my fingers curling loosely in my lap.

“Jesus tells us here,” the pastor continues, “that your worth is not tied to how much you achieve, or how perfectly you perform. If He cares for the sparrows, if He clothes the lilies of the field in beauty beyond kings, how much more does He care for you? Grace means you don’t have to earn it.

Light means you’re not walking through the weight alone. ”

And just like that, it’s as if every sentence is somehow aimed at me, slipping into places I didn’t even know needed healing. Just like that first song.

Did he know I’d be here today? The thought is absurd, but it sticks. How else could he speak so directly to my heart ?

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. I’m not here to cry in front of strangers. Still, something in me softens.

When the message ends, heads bow in a simple, unhurried prayer. A piano hums softly beneath the words, each note settling over the room like falling snow. I close my eyes and let the stillness wash through me. The quiet feels like more than silence—it feels alive.

“Amen,” the room echoes, and the music swells again, lifting the moment into something I can’t quite name.

Opening my eyes, I catch sight of Gray on stage, guitar in hand, leading worship with that same intensity I saw earlier. My lips curve into a smile. I get to see him again at lunch, just us.

With the final note, Gray’s voice rings out, warm and familiar, “Go out and love the world today, y’all!”

The band fades away as people begin to stand and exit. I gather my things, following the crowd toward the lobby. But as soon as I step out into the open space, a creeping realization hits me. We never decided where to meet after service.

Scanning the room, I spot a cozy couch tucked away in the corner and sink down, pulling out my phone. I check my messages. Nothing. My thumb hovers, tapping the screen anxiously. The lobby empties around me, but my phone stays stubbornly silent.

A nervous knot twists in my stomach. What if he forgot?

Just as I rise to leave, my phone rings. Gray’s name flashes across the screen.

I answer immediately, heart pounding when I hear his voice. “Where are you? ”

I glance around, searching for the right words. “I’m by the couches near the entrance.”

Then I see him, rushing toward me, that big, bright smile lighting up his face. Without hesitation, he wraps me in a hug so warm and real, I almost forget where we are.

“Hey you,” he murmurs against my hair.