Page 113 of Let Me In

My breath catches at the endearment, a hush moving through me like his words just anchored something deep. Not pressure—presence. His quiet command doesn’t scare me. It settles me. Like I’m being asked to show up, not perform.

I swallow. “I—I think they need to go out. Maybe a little food. I can—”

He gently cuts in, voice low and firm. “No, baby. You’ve done enough tonight. Let me.”

I freeze.

Not because I’m afraid.

Because I hear what he’s saying underneath.

Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you.

So I whisper, half gratitude, still half afraid it's all too much, “Yes, please.”

He nods.

“Good girl.”

His voice is low but sure, threading through me like warmth with an edge. Sharp enough to cut through doubt. My pulse trips, something low and tight pulling beneath my ribs—too big to name, but impossible to ignore. Not just obedience. Not just praise. When I look up, his eyes are steady, jaw firm with something like pride. It’s belonging. It’s being claimed.

And then he’s up.

No noise.

No complaint.

He moves around the cabin with ease, filling the dogs’ water, scooping food, and sliding the back door open to let them out into the yard.

They go without fuss.

No barking.

No pulling.

Like they understand the quiet here. Like they feel it.

He waits until they’re done.

Brings them back in.

Closes the door.

Locks it.

Then returns to me.

His hand reaches for mine.

“Bed,” he murmurs.

I nod, too tired to speak.

But when I stand, he’s already moving. Takes the blanket from my shoulders, then wraps his arm around me.

And leads me down the hall like I’m something precious.

And maybe... maybe I am.

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