Page 121 of Let Me In

Gentle.

Unmistakable.

And he tilts my chin until I’m looking at him.

His eyes are shadowed in the dark, but I feel them.

And then—

He kisses me.

Not urgent, not rushed. But full. So full.

Like his whole chest is in it. Like he’s answering a question that’s lived in me for years.

When he pulls back, his voice is low. Steady.

“Yes.”

One word.

But it roots down into me like something holy.

I don’t say anything else, just lay my head back on his chest. Let his arms come around me again, let the silence wrap us up.

And finally—finally—I start to believe that maybe I’m not just safe.

Maybe I’m wanted, too.

23

CAL

She’s still asleepwhen I open my eyes. Her weight is a soft pressure against my side, anchoring me in a way nothing else does. Like she belongs there. Like I do, too.

Curled small against me, one hand tucked under her cheek, her breath slow and even.

She hasn’t flinched. Hasn’t stirred.

She’s safe.

And she let me hold her through the night.

I take a breath and let it root deep, slow and quiet, like the start of something steady. The kind I haven’t taken in a long time.

She’s wearing my shirt. And fuck, if that doesn’t do something to me. Not just want—but claim. Like she’s mine in some old, primal way. Like this is how it’s supposed to be. The sight stirs something deep and steady—like a thread of need twisted tight with protectiveness. It makes me want to wrap her tighter, keep her there forever. Feed her, shield her, make sure she never has to sleep without this kind of warmth again.

Blankets are tangled around her legs, her hair soft and wild against my arm. She looks like she belongs here—like this bed has always known her.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t dream.

Didn’t wake up gasping or sweating or reaching for a weapon I’ve sworn not to use.

I just slept.

Because she was beside me.

Because she was okay.

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