CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 62

EZRA

I don’t know when I finally put the pen down. The last word—“soar”—sat there on the paper, surrounded by messy scrawls and smudged ink. My throat ached from humming under my breath. My hand hurt. My heart hurt more.

But it was done.

I exhaled shakily and leaned back against the headboard. For a second, I just stared at it—my song. The one we’d sing tomorrow. The one that, hopefully, wouldn’t get us laughed off stage.

A soft knock.

I turned, already knowing who it was.

“Come in,” I said quietly.

The door opened, and Father Dorian stepped in, still wearing his black shirt. His collar was slightly undone, sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly human for someone supposed to be holy.

“You’re still awake,” he said, voice low.

I rubbed my eyes. “Barely.”

He walked closer, hands in his pockets. “Genevieve told me to leave you alone earlier,” he said, stopping near the bed, “but it’s almost midnight.”

“Yeah.” I looked down at my notebook. “I finished it.”

His brows lifted. “Can I hear it?”

My heart stuttered. “Now?”

“Now.” His mouth twitched in a small smile. “Before the others.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Just—don’t judge. It’s rough.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Ezra,” he said softly, “you could hum the alphabet and make it sound like worship.”

My face heated. “That’s… not helpful.”

“Then sing,” he murmured.

So I did.

I started quietly, my voice shaky at first, then steadier.

> “Even when my hands grow tired,

when the night feels endless still,

You will lift me higher—

teach my heart to bend, not still…”

When I finished, silence filled the room. Dorian didn’t speak. His eyes lingered on me, unreadable.

“Say something,” I whispered.

He inhaled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Really?”

“It’s…” He paused, searching for words. “It’s like prayer turned into sound.”

My chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He stood suddenly. “Come on.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Let’s show them.”

“Now?” I checked the clock. “It’s midnight!”

“Exactly,” he said, grabbing my notebook. “The sooner they learn, the better.”

I groaned but followed anyway.

We went downstairs together, tiptoeing past the creaky stairs until we reached the big hall. The lights were dim, but Lily and Jordan were still awake, whispering over mugs of tea. Ryan was half-asleep on the couch.

“Why are you two up?” Lily asked suspiciously as we walked in.

“Ezra finished the song,” Dorian said.

That woke everyone up.

Jordan sat straight. “You what?”

Lily gasped. “Let me see!”

Dorian handed her the notebook. “He’s going to sing it.”

Lily clutched her chest. “Oh my God, premiere performance!”

“Don’t make it weird,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s always weird.”

I sighed and walked to the center of the hall. Everyone went quiet. Even Dorian leaned against the piano, arms folded, watching.

I started again.

This time, my voice was stronger. It filled the room, rising, dipping, echoing against the old walls.

When the last note faded, I looked up.

Lily had tears in her eyes. Jordan was blinking fast. Ryan just let out a low whistle.

“Holy,” he said finally. “No pun intended.”

“That was—” Lily fanned herself. “—wow. Like, I wanna cry and hug Jesus.”

Jordan smirked.

Dorian’s voice cut through the laughter. “It’s perfect.”

I glanced at him. His gaze was calm again, but there was something proud—almost tender—behind it.

“Alright,” Genevieve’s voice came from the doorway. We all turned. She stood there in her nightgown and robe, unbothered. “If you’re going to stay awake, make yourselves useful. Learn it.”

Lily groaned. “Genevieve, it’s midnight!”

She raised a brow. “Then don’t waste time complaining.”

We scrambled into positions. Dorian moved to the piano, fingers brushing over the keys. “Alright, from the top.”

The first try was rough.

Ryan came in too early.

Jordan sang the wrong harmony.

Lily tried a high note that made us all wince.

“Okay, I heard that,” she said, hands on her hips. “Don’t judge me.”

“You cracked like glass,” Ryan muttered.

She kicked him lightly. “Says the guy who forgot his cue.”

“Children,” Genevieve said, her voice cool. “Focus.”

We all straightened.

By the third round, it clicked.

Their voices blended perfectly, rising behind mine like waves.

I closed my eyes, felt it—all of it. The sound. The faith. The unity.

When we finished, there was silence again. The good kind this time.

“Better,” Dorian said, smiling faintly. “You’re getting there.”

Jordan groaned, collapsing onto a chair. “I swear my throat’s on fire.”

Lily flopped beside her. “Worth it.”

Genevieve clapped her hands once. “That’s enough for tonight. Go rest.”

Everyone started to pack up, yawning and laughing quietly.

Dorian turned to me before leaving the hall. “You did well, Ezra.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling tiredly. “I’m still scared, though.”

He shrugged lightly. “Fear and faith aren’t opposites. They walk together.”

I stared at him for a beat. “You’re really good at saying things that sound profound.”

He smiled, faint but real. “That’s my job.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head as he walked out.

******

Morning came too fast. I barely felt like I’d slept before Lily’s voice was ringing through the hallway, screaming something about “vocal warm-ups” and “we’re gonna be late!”

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “It’s seven a.m., not Judgment Day,” I muttered.

“Close enough!” she yelled back.

By the time I stumbled downstairs, everyone was already gathered in the hall. Genevieve stood at the piano, hair tied in a neat bun, posture perfect as always. “Alright,” she said crisply, “we have less than twenty four hours before the final round. Let’s make every second count.”

Lily clapped her hands. “Let’s do this!”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “You sound like a Disney character.”

“I am a Disney character,” Lily replied, tossing her hair. “Specifically the one who wins.”

I laughed, stretching my neck. “You wish.”

Genevieve’s voice cut in like a blade. “Children, focus.”

Everyone went silent instantly.

Dorian sat behind the piano, adjusting the mic stand. “Alright,” he said, voice calm, eyes flicking to me for half a second. “From the top.”

The first few runs were rough. Ryan missed an entrance; Jordan’s harmony slid flat. Lily kept getting distracted by Jordan, who was standing right there.

“Stop flirting with your soprano,” I said, fighting a grin.

Jordan blinked innocently. “What flirting?”

“You literally winked mid-note.”

“Maybe it’s part of my technique.”

Dorian’s fingers paused on the keys. “Enough,” he said, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed amusement. “Start again.”

We did. Again and again. Until every word, every breath, every rise of the melody clicked into place.

By noon, my throat was raw and my head throbbed, but when we sang the final run-through, something shifted. The room filled with sound—full, bright, alive.

When it ended, Genevieve smiled. A real smile. “That will do.”

Lily gasped dramatically. “Did she just say ‘that will do’? Are we dying? Is this heaven?”

“Go eat lunch,” Genevieve said, but her tone was softer than usual.

Dorian looked at me as we packed up. “Drink water. Lots of it.”

“Yes, Father,” I said automatically.

Lunch was loud and chaotic. Ryan was trying to balance two trays of food, Jordan was feeding Lily fries, and I sat there trying not to throw up from nerves.

“What if I forget the lyrics?” I said for the tenth time.

“You won’t,” Lily said with her mouth full.

“Or my voice cracks.”

“It won’t.”

“Or—”

“Ezra,” Jordan interrupted. “You’ve sung this song at least fifty times. If you mess up, we’ll carry you.”

I blinked. “You’ll what?”

“Backup harmonies,” she said with a grin. “Not literally. You’re too heavy to carry.”

I laughed weakly. “Thanks for clarifying.”

By late afternoon, we were backstage at the competition hall again.

The air buzzed with tension. Choirs in matching outfits huddled together, whispering prayers or humming warm-ups. The smell of perfume, coffee, and nerves filled the air.

We stood in our corner, dressed in simple white and gold. Genevieve paced quietly, murmuring something under her breath—probably a psalm.

Lily was holding my hand, squeezing it every few seconds. “You okay?” she asked.

“No,” I said truthfully.

Dorian’s voice carried from beside us, steady and grounding. “Remember what you practiced. Don’t overthink the audience. Just… sing.”

I nodded, trying not to focus on how calm he looked. “You’re not nervous at all?”

He met my eyes. “You’ll be brilliant.”

And somehow, that was enough.

We watched as the first few churches performed. Voices soared, choirs harmonized, the crowd cheered. By the time the nineteenth church was on stage, my palms were slick with sweat.

“These people can sing,” Jordan muttered, low whistle escaping her lips. “We’re doomed.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Lily hissed.

Genevieve turned slightly, her expression unreadable. “We’ll do fine,” she said quietly, “because we’re not competing. We’re offering.”

That shut everyone up.

When the announcer finally called our church name, my stomach dropped.

“That’s us,” Ryan said, standing. “Here goes nothing.”

Dorian nodded at us from the side. “Go.”

I took a deep breath and followed Lily onto the stage. The lights were so bright it was like walking into heaven—or hell, depending on how you saw it.

The audience was a blur of faces. My heart pounded against my ribs.

Silence.

Then the piano began.

I came in, my voice weaving with hers. The choir rose behind us, harmonies layering like sunlight through stained glass.

By the bridge, the crowd was still. No coughing, no whispers. Just listening.

Then came the note—the one I’d barely hit even in practice.

I closed my eyes and went for it.

For a heartbeat, I thought it wouldn’t come. But then it did—pure, sharp, ringing through the hall.

Someone in the audience clapped mid-song.

And when we finished, the applause was instant.

I stared out at the crowd, chest heaving, and for the first time in weeks, I felt weightless.

Genevieve was smiling. Dorian too, subtle but there.

Lily threw her arm around me. “You killed that!”

“I didn’t die, so technically—yeah,” I said, laughing shakily.

We walked off stage together, laughing and bumping shoulders.

Behind us, the next church was being called, but I barely heard them. My whole body buzzed with adrenaline.

During the short break before results, everyone scattered to stretch or grab water.

Ryan flopped on a bench. “If we don’t make top five, I’m quitting music and becoming a plumber.”

Lily swatted him. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Jordan was scrolling through her phone. “We’ll make it,” she said casually.

“How do you know?” I asked.

She smirked. “You sang like a man possessed, bro. People felt that.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Maybe. I just hope it was enough.”

From across the room, Dorian caught my gaze. He didn’t say a word, just gave the faintest nod.

And suddenly, I believed it was.