Page 119 of Let Me In

Because he’s already there.

His arms wrap around me before I can even register the sound of my panic.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, rough with sleep but still sure. “You’re okay, little one. You’re right here.”

His hand finds the back of my head.

Gently guides me back to him.

I collapse into him like a wave folding into shore.

My face presses into his chest.

His arms tighten.

And he doesn’t ask what it was.

Doesn’t ask why.

Just holds.

And I let him.

Let my breath catch and shudder against his shirt.

Let the sound of his heartbeat talk me down.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He stills.

Just slightly.

But enough for me to feel it.

“I’m sorry I have to be here,” I add, voice barely there. “I’m sorry I—interrupted you. When you were working earlier. With that call. I didn’t mean to ruin anything.”

It takes him a moment.

Just one.

But I feel it—his whole body going quiet around me.

Then he speaks.

Soft.

But broken.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Cal—”

His voice is firmer now. Not sharp. Just honest.

“Don’t apologize for needing care. For being here. For being mine.”

The word mine sends a tremor through me—equal parts ache and wonder. Like I’ve stepped into something warm and unfamiliar, something I want to believe in but don’t quite know how to hold. It wraps around all the places that used to hurt.

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