Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line) -

Chase took a slow pull of his beer, the cold crispness hitting just right. "Every week. Still in the third row, right behind your aunt. She still hits the high notes a little too hard."

They clinked glass—a dull, rhythmic thunk —and for a long moment, they just sat in the comfortable silence of the backwoods night. No deadlines, no traffic, just the shared understanding of where they came from and who was watching over it all. "Amen to that," Miller whispered. Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line)

"So," Miller started, tracing a ring of condensation on the table. "You still doing the Sunday morning thing?" Chase took a slow pull of his beer,

Chase nodded, looking out the window at the rolling hills fading into the purple twilight. "I get it. It’s easier to hear Him out here. Sometimes it’s in the preacher's words, sure, but most times? It’s in the way the wind hits the cornfields or just sitting right here, catching up with an old friend." She still hits the high notes a little too hard