Page 144 of Let Me In

Not when his arms are wrapped around me like this.

Not when every step he takes feels like a vow.

The bathroom is warm when we enter. The light low. He must have turned the heater on earlier—it’s already taken the chill out of the tiles. And somehow, that hits me harder than it should. He’d thought ahead. Thought of me. Made sure it would be warm before I even needed it. It’s such a quiet thing, but it wraps around something tender in my chest.

He shifts me gently in his arms. Not to let go. Just to reach.

Turns the faucet. Runs the water.

I listen to it swirl into the tub, soft and steady.

His hand dips under the stream, checking the temperature. Not a glance at me—his attention is already there, already on it, already making sure it’s not too hot, not too cold. Just right for me.

Steam begins to rise.

He adjusts the tap slightly, rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbow.

Still holding me.

Still mine.

Then, slowly, like he’s moving through something fragile, he lowers me.

Not into the tub.

Onto the closed lid of the toilet.

One arm around my waist. The other steadying my shoulder.

Like I might sway.

Like I might shatter.

But I don’t.

Because he’s right there.

Always right there.

“Sit for a second, baby,” he murmurs, brushing a curl behind my ear. “I’ve got you.”

I nod, legs trembling slightly beneath the oversized shirt I’m still wrapped in.

His quilt.

His warmth.

His care.

The tub continues to fill, and Cal rises to his full height. Moves through the small room like it’s familiar but somehow new—like he’s claiming this space now, too, just by the way he moves inside it.

And I watch him.

Silently.

My breath caught in my throat.

Because I’ve never been cared for like this.

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