Page 200 of Let Me In

Soft.

Steady.

Certain.

And when I pull back, his eyes are still closed.

So I whisper it.

“Keep letting me.”

The words leave my mouth like a prayer and a plea in one. My chest pulls tight, but not in fear. Something like hope unfurling, tentative and real. Like this might be what it feels like to be allowed to stay.

His eyes open then. And God—

The look he gives me.

Wrecked. Silent. Reverent.

Like I just handed him something he forgot he was allowed to want.

His hand slides up my back. Presses me in close. Like he’s answering without needing to say a word.

But he does say something.

Low.

Rough.

“Always.”

He doesn’t speak right away.

Just holds me.

His hand on my back, his cheek resting briefly against the top of my head like he needs a breath.

Like that one word—always—wasn’t just a promise, but a release.

When his voice comes again, it’s a little lower. Cal when he’s sure. Cal when he’s looking past me, beyond me, and building walls with his hands that only I’ll ever be on the inside of.

“If you see another strange car…” The words settle between us. Not sharp. But precise. “You let me know immediately. You don’t approach. You don’t wave it off. You don’t make yourself small around it.”

I nod slowly, my hand finding the fabric of his shirt.

He cups the side of my face, turning me gently until I’m looking at him.

“I’m not expecting to see that one again,” he says. “But if you see anything that doesn’t belong, any person who feels out of place—even if it’s just a gut feeling…”

His gaze hardens.

“You tell me.”

I don’t flinch.

Not because it isn’t firm. It is.

But it’s the kind of firmness that wraps around you like armor. My breath loosens. My shoulders ease the smallest amount. It doesn’t scare me... it steadies me. Like maybe this time, strength doesn’t mean danger.

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