Page 246 of Let Me In

He frowns, brow pulling in. “What?”

“When I played you that voicemail.” My throat aches. “When he said those things. Said he was selling the bike.” I swallow. “You didn’t even flinch. You just… went.”

Cal says nothing. His eyes are so steady it feels like they’re holding me up.

“I think that’s what wrecked me the most,” I whisper. “That you didn’t hesitate. That you didn’t ask if I was overreacting. Or if I’d misunderstood. You just knew. You acted.”

I press the book tighter to my chest, like it’ll stop my ribs from shaking.

“I’ve never had that before.”

My voice breaks on the last word, and Cal moves. Just enough to gather me in—kneeling now, arms wrapping tight around me. I fold into him, shaking.

His breath is at my temple, warm and steady against my skin, each exhale a quiet anchor. “That’s the bare minimum, baby. You know that, right?”

I shake my head before I can stop myself. Not in defiance. Just truth.

“Then we’ve got to fix that,” he says. Gently. But with weight.

His hand comes up to the back of my head. “You don’t need to earn that kind of love. You never did.”

I try to believe it. Try to absorb the warmth of his chest, the quiet of the cabin, the thrum of his heart through his shirt.

But something in me is still trembling.

Still braced.

And he feels it.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. Eyes searching.

“You’re still holding it,” he murmurs, his thumb smoothing gently over my brow as he speaks. One arm curls tighter around my waist, anchoring me to him—solid, steady, and warm.

I blink at him.

“The weight,” he says. “Of yesterday. Of before. Of everything.”

He cups my face, warm and sure. “And I think it’s time we help that little heart of yours remember where she is.”

My breath hitches, shallow and quick.

He smooths his thumb across my cheek. “Not because you’re in trouble. Not because I’m angry.”

His voice lowers, so soft it curls around me like a blanket.

“But you’re everything to me. And I can feel you drifting.”

I try to speak. Try to explain that I’m okay. That I don’t need this.

But the truth is—I do.

The truth is, I’m exhausted from trying to hold it all alone.

And when he says, “Let Daddy take care of you now,” I nod.

Not because I understand. Not yet, anyway.

But because I trust him.

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