Page 44 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

It feels like I barely slept.

The memories of yesterday replay on a loop—my harsh tone, the clipped words I threw at Ivy backstage. Her face, startled and unsure, flickers across my mind like a bad dream. I run my hands over my face, groaning as I sit up and plant my feet on the cold hardwood floor.

I haven’t been that guy in years. The one who lashes out without thinking. The one whose words cut before he can reel them back.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand, flipping it over. My thumb hovers over the screen, and I tap it awake.

Nothing.

Not a single text. Not a missed call.

I swipe through my call log. Four calls. The first rang, the rest went straight to voicemail. I left her a message after the first two, but it was awkward and jumbled—an apology tangled up with excuses. I don’t even remember what I said. Probably just more rambling.

A knot tightens in my stomach, and I push off the bed, pacing my room. My hands find my hair, fingers knotting through the strands in frustration. Why couldn’t I just talk to her?

The truth is, she didn’t deserve any of it. Not my mood. Not my sharp words. Not the way I brushed her off like she didn’t matter.

I feel the familiar sting of guilt clawing its way up my chest, suffocating and thick. This is what I used to be. Angry. Reactive. I thought I’d left that behind. Thought I’d buried it deep enough that it couldn’t surface again.

But one bad day, and I snapped.

Gray

You free today?

I send the text and toss the phone onto the bed, pacing the room again. My hands feel restless, fingertips drumming against my thighs as I walk. What if she’s mad? What if I crossed a line I can’t come back from?

What if I ruined everything?

My phone vibrates in my hand, the screen lighting up with her name. My heart does this weird lurch, and I fumble to unlock it.

Ivy

Can I come over? We need to talk.

My heart drops straight to my stomach, the words blurring for a second before I can even process them.

We need to talk.

I sit down hard on the edge of the bed, my breath coming quicker than it should. I’ve heard those words before. I know what they mean.

I type back, fingers fumbling slightly.

Gray

Of course. I’m here. Whenever you want.

I stare at the screen, waiting for those three dots to appear. They don’t. The screen stays still. Silent.

I exhale, head hanging low as I rub my palms together. I can’t lose this. I can’t lose her. Not because of my own mistakes. Not because I let old demons crawl back to the surface.

I close my eyes, pressing my palms together. It’s not a graceful prayer. It’s barely a whisper. But it’s real.

“God, help me fix this. Help me make it right.”

I pace the length of my living room, back and forth, hands rubbing together like I can burn off the tension pooling in my chest. I straightened up the apartment twice—fluffed the couch pillows, wiped down the counters, even ran a quick vacuum across the floor.

Not that Ivy would care, but I needed something to do with my hands.

Her text still flashes in my mind: We need to talk.

I can’t shake the feeling that it’s bad news. That she’s going to walk in, sit down across from me, and tell me she can’t do this anymore. That my mess, my baggage, my brokenness, is too much.

I hear a soft knock on the door, and my heart lurches. I pause, inhaling deeply before making my way over. My hand hesitates on the knob for half a second before I twist it open.

She stands there, eyes a little softer than I expected, but her shoulders are tense, one hand gripping the strap of her bag like it’s her lifeline.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey you.” My voice is rougher than I intend. I step back, holding the door wider. “Come in.”

She steps inside, and I close the door behind her, the click of the lock sounding too loud in the stillness. I watch as she scans the room, her gaze lingering on the freshly arranged pillows. Her lips quirk up just slightly, and I clear my throat.

“Can I…do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee?” I’m rambling, and I can’t seem to stop. “I have tea…somewhere.”

She shakes her head, slipping her bag off her shoulder and setting it by the door. “No, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

A beat of silence stretches between us, and I swear I can hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway. This is the first time we’ve been alone together in weeks.

I can’t take it any longer. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “About yesterday. Backstage. I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I shouldn’t have…”

“Gray, It’s fine.” She cuts me off gently, her eyes meeting mine. My shoulders sag with relief, but she steps forward, crossing her arms lightly. “I’m not here to talk about that.”

My brows knit together. “You’re not?”

She shakes her head, taking another step closer. I catch the faintest scent of her perfume—that perfect blend of florals I’ve grown to crave. It’s like a punch to the chest, a reminder of how much I’ve missed her.

“I’m not here to talk about yesterday,” she repeats, her voice firmer. “I’m here because…I need to tell you something.”

My heart kicks up a notch, but I nod, waiting. She’s so close now, just a foot of space between us, and I resist the urge to reach for her.

She takes a deep breath. “I prayed yesterday.”

The words hang between us, fragile and full. My heart stutters, and I try to catch my breath. “You did?”

She nods, her gaze never leaving mine. “For the first time. Like…really, actually prayed.” Her hands twist together in front of her, and I watch her fingers fumble, knuckles going white.

“I was sitting in my apartment, and everything just…crashed in on me. I realized I’ve been trying to fit into this mold I didn’t understand.

I realized…” She pauses, blinking rapidly.

“I realized I didn’t want to just fit in anymore. I want to belong.”

My throat tightens, and I take a step forward, my hands slipping into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Ivy…that’s…” I can’t find the words.

But she’s not done. Her gaze flickers to the floor, then back up to me, fire and uncertainty battling in her eyes. “I prayed for peace. I prayed to…to feel something real. And it was there, Gray. It was real.”

I can barely breathe. “That’s amazing,” I whisper, my voice barely a rasp.

Her lips curve into the softest smile, the kind that’s almost a secret. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know where to start.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. We just stand there, the distance between us charged and humming. Finally, I clear my throat. “Do you…do you want to sit?”

She nods, and I guide her to the couch, sitting beside her but keeping a few inches of space between us. My hands rest on my knees, fingers laced together, and I steal a glance at her.

“You have no idea how grateful I am to see you choosing Him.”

Her eyes shimmer, but she blinks quickly, nodding. “Thank you.”

There’s silence again, but it’s comfortable this time.

Finally, I speak, the words coming out softer than I intend. “I was scared, you know. When I didn’t hear back from you.”

She looks up, surprised. “You were?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I thought I’d messed everything up. I thought…” I pause, forcing the words out. “I thought I lost you.”

I can’t help it—I reach for her. My hand instinctively moves toward hers, fingers stretching out like they might catch the slipping threads of this moment. But before I make contact, she shifts back. Not dramatically. Not harshly. But enough.

Enough to make my hand freeze in midair before I awkwardly pull it back.

My chest tightens. I feel the shift, like a thread snapping in the middle of a long stretch. Panic surges up my throat, clawing its way into my words.

“Ivy,” I blurt, leaning forward, voice already trembling. “If this is about yesterday…about what happened backstage. I swear to you, it’s not who I am anymore. I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to push you away.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, soft but guarded. I keep talking because I can’t stop. “And if you need to know…about Claire, I’ll tell you. I will. I just…I didn’t want to dump that on you. I didn’t want you to think…to think that I’m still holding on to that, because I’m not.”

Ivy blinks, her expression almost stunned. I can feel my hands shaking. I press them to my thighs to still them, but it doesn’t work. My breath is ragged, and I don’t even care if she sees.

“I’m not trying to make you something you’re not,” I say, voice cracking on the last word. “I don’t want to lose you. I…I can’t lose you.”

Her eyes glisten, and she looks away, pressing her lips together. I feel like I’m free-falling, scrambling for something to hold on to, but there’s nothing but air. Nothing but the fragile silence between us.

“Ivy?” My voice is barely above a whisper now.

Her eyes flick back to mine, and I catch it—just a flicker of pain. She scoots forward, bridging the gap, her hand reaching out to brush a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. Her touch is soft, grounding, and it nearly breaks me.

She leans in, wrapping her arms around me, and I fold into it, clutching her like she might disappear. Her chin rests on my shoulder, her hands gentle against my back.

“I’m not leaving you,” she whispers, and my breath shudders out in relief. “But…”

My arms tense. “But?”

She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. Her hands stay on my shoulders, her gaze steady. “I need space, Gray.”

I swallow hard, the words hitting like a punch. “Space?”

Her nod is slow, deliberate. “I need to figure out…all of this. What I believe. What I want. What I’m actually ready fo r.” She pauses, her eyes glassy but determined. “I don’t want to pretend, not for you, not for anyone.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My mind scrambles for the right thing to say, the thing that will fix this. But there’s nothing. There’s just the truth of her words, hanging heavy between us.

“I don’t want to hold you back,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “And I don’t want to fake faith just to fit into your world. You deserve more than that.”

My hands find hers again, clasping tightly. “I don’t want more, Ivy. I just want you.”

Her eyes well with tears, and she gently pulls her hands free from mine, pressing them to her chest like she’s holding herself together. “I want to want that too,” she says, her voice cracking. “But right now…I just don’t know.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and I reach to brush it away, but she stands, wrapping her arms around herself instead. The space between us feels like a canyon, and I can do nothing but watch her.

“I need to find out who I am with God before I can figure out who I am with you,” she says, her voice stronger this time.

My throat burns. My hands feel empty. “And you think you can’t do that…with me?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head slowly. “I think I have to do it alone.”

Her words cut deeper than I expect, and I flinch back, nodding even though everything inside me is screaming. “Okay,” I choke out. “If that’s what you need.”

She bites her bottom lip, her eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I force a smile, even though it feels like my chest is caving in. “You do what you need to do. I’ll still be here.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, I think she might change her mind. But she doesn’t. Instead, she nods, her shoulders pulling back like she’s fortifying herself. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I manage a nod, even though everything in me wants to reach for her, pull her back, hold on. But I let her go.

I watch as she picks up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She pauses at the door, turning back one last time. “Bye, Gray.”

My jaw clenches, but I force the words out. “Bye, Ivy.”

And then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence settles back in. Heavy. Unyielding.

I stand there for a long time, staring at the door like she might walk back in. But she doesn’t.

And I don’t move.