Page 105 of Let Me In

Then his hand lingers. Fingers brush my collarbone, light as breath. The contact steals mine, just for a second—my lungs pausing like my body doesn’t know how to hold the softness. It grounds me more than startles. Like his hand is writing safety into my skin.

Then drift down—slow, deliberate—until his palm comes to rest on my thigh.

“I’ve got you now,” he says softly.

The words drop into me like warmth.

I nod.

I’m not crying anymore. His hands, his voice, steady my shaking too. Until I just am.

And that feels like enough.

He glances at the dogs. Smiles faintly, like they belong to him now, too. Then he shifts into drive. And we pull away.

The house disappears in the mirrors.

But I don’t look back. A breath leaves me—slow and hollow, like I’ve been holding it for years. There’s no pull in my chest. Just quiet. Just lightness. Like something heavy has finally been cut loose.

Because nothing there holds me.

Not anymore.

The road curves ahead, quiet and empty.

And his hand stays right there on my leg.

Warm.

Steady.

Home.

His hand stays on my leg the whole time, thumb brushing slow arcs into the denim of my jeans. Every so often, he glances at me. Not to ask anything. Just… to see me.

And I let him.

The road grows narrower. The trees rise tall around us. And then I see it.

The cabin.

The porch light glows soft through the trees. The same one he left on for me that first night.

Only now?

It doesn’t feel like it’s just for safety.

It feels like a welcome.

The truck rolls to a stop. He cuts the engine.

Lets the silence settle.

“You ready?” he asks softly.

I nod, but my voice still comes out quiet. “Are you sure?”

His brows draw together just slightly.

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