But I don’t believe him. The tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticks—everything about him looks wound tight.
“You don’t seem fine.” My voice comes out softer than I expect, but steadier too. “Did something happen?”
Gray shrugs, eyes darting away. “Just a long day.”
“Gray…” I try again, the knot in my chest pulling tighter. “You’ve been off since before service. Talk to me.”
His hands rake through his hair, a frustrated sigh slipping past his lips. “It’s nothing, Ivy. Really.”
The deflection stings, and for a moment I almost let it drop. Almost. But the echo of that woman’s words won’t stop rattling in my mind, and the longer he shuts me out, the louder they get.
I bite the inside of my cheek, warring with myself. Ishouldn’t. I shouldn’t. But the question burns through anyway.
“Who’s Claire?”
The silence that follows is deafening.
The air between us shifts—sharpens. His expression goes blank for a second too long. His hands drop from the guitar, fingers curling into fists at his sides.
He blinks, his jaw tightening. “What did you say?”
I swallow, the knot in my throat growing tighter. “Claire. I…I ran into someone who mentioned her. Said she was part of your past.”
Gray’s eyes harden, and he takes a measured breath, running a hand through his hair. “Who told you that?”
I shake my head, trying to catch my breath. “Just someone I’ve seen around. I don’t even know her name. She said she was proud of me for being strong in my faith. Said…said you deserved someone like that after…after Claire.”
His jaw flexes, the muscle ticking with the pressure. He looks away, staring hard at the wall, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.
“Gray…” I step closer, my voice softening. “Who was she?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay fixed on the wall, his fists unclenching slowly. “It’s not important,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped.
My heart twists. “It is if it’s bothering you.”
He sighs, running both hands through his hair now, gripping the back of his neck as if the tension there is the only thing keeping him upright. “Look…I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”
“But…”
He turns to me, eyes shadowed with something I can’t quite name. Regret? Pain? “Not right now, Ivy.”
His voice is gentle but firm, the kind that leaves no room for argument. I swallow back my questions, nodding even though it leaves a thousand loose threads dangling between us.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He exhales, shoulders sagging slightly. “I just…I need a minute. Alright?”
I nod again, feeling a sting of hurt I can’t explain. He steps back, hands still gripping the back of his neck, and leans against the wall, staring at the ceiling like he’s searching for answers.
I linger for a second longer, waiting for him to look at me, to say something that will make it better. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, eyes closed, breathing deeply like he’s trying to regain control.
Finally, I turn, slipping back out into the hallway, my heart heavier than when I walked in.
Who is Claire?
Why won’t he tell me?
And more importantly…what kind of woman did he love before me?
