Page 247 of Let Me In

He shifts, rising to his feet in that effortless way that always makes me feel smaller, lighter. The air shifts with the motion—like even the room knows he’s standing. Carried. I expect him to move toward the bedroom, but he doesn’t. Not this time.

Instead, he sits back on the old leather couch. Legs parted, body solid, grounding.

And he reaches for me. His hand extends slowly, warm and steady, fingertips brushing my wrist with the kind of gentleness that feels like an invitation more than a command.

I hesitate.

My fingers curl tighter around the book, eyes catching on the photograph still resting near the trunk. The flannel. The compass.

It’s too much. I don’t know how to hold this kind of care. This kind of belonging.

“I don’t…” My throat tightens. “Cal, I don’t think I need it. I’m okay.”

He tilts his head. “Are you?”

I don’t answer. Not really. Just twist my hands and look down.

“I think I’m just tired,” I try. “And overthinking. It’s nothing. Just… noise.”

He nods, slowly. Like he’s giving me space to walk it back.

But I keep going, because I’m scared of what it means if I don’t.

“And I know this isn’t for punishment, I do. But I don’t want to turn into someone who needs this all the time. Who needs you to fix me all the time.”

His jaw twitches. Barely.

“I’m a lot, Cal. You know that. You don’t have to—”

“Stop.”

His voice is soft. But it stops me cold.

“You are not trouble.”

The words hit like a stone thrown into still water. Sharp. Unmoving.

His eyes don’t waver.

“You’ve had people in your life who made you believe that needing support meant you were too much. That being held, being cared for, was something you had to justify.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands open.

“But you don’t have to earn this, Emmy. You don’t have to be easy to love to be worthy of it.”

Tears pool hot in my eyes.

“You’re my girl,” he says. “And when your shoulders are too heavy, that weight becomes mine. That’s not a burden.”

His voice deepens. Quiet. Steady.

“That’s a promise.”

I’m already crying by the time he says, “Come here, little one.”

And this time, I go.

My knees shake as I step between his legs. He sets the book aside, then pulls me close, guiding me over his lap with a gentleness that undoes me completely. I feel the firm support of his thigh beneath me, the warmth of his body wrapping around mine as I settle, held like I’ve never been before.

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