Page 256 of Let Me In

Something about the way he’s standing—the way he keeps checking the window, then the fire, then the door—makes my stomach twist.

He’s thinking. Calculating. Gathering himself.

He’s dressed already. Dark shirt. Jacket. His hands rest flat on the counter, shoulder blades drawn tight. He’s looking out the window, but I can tell he isn’t really seeing it.

Something’s wrong.

But when I say his name, he turns.

And the moment his eyes find mine—it’s him again.

My Cal. My center.

But steadier than usual. Quieter.

Like everything in him has been sorted already. All that’s left is the carrying out.

“Hey, baby,” he says, voice low.

I cross the room. My fingers find the edge of the counter, then slide over his. He doesn’t flinch. Just folds his hand around mine.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

His eyes flick to mine, and something in his face softens even more. Then opens one hand toward the couch.

“Come here, baby. Let’s sit for a minute.”

My chest pulls tight.

But I cross to him anyway, heart thudding, and let him draw me down into his lap once we’re settled. He gathers me into his lap, one arm braced around my back, the other anchoring my thighs—his hold secure and strong, like he’s claiming me quiet and sure. The firm press of his chest steadying mine, his warmth sinking deep into my skin.

I tuck my legs to the side. Rest my head against his collarbone. Feel the steadiness of his breath beneath my cheek.

“You’re leaving,” I say quietly. Not a question.

His jaw works. Not tense. Just slow.

“I need to,” he says. “Two nights. That’s all.”

My chest tightens.

He sees it instantly—tilts his head, studying me with that unreadable gentleness that always comes before he says something I don’t want to hear.

“I wouldn’t go unless I had to. And I wouldn’t go without telling you. Not anymore.”

I nod. Try not to blink too fast. Try to stay still.

“What is it?” I whisper.

His thumb strokes over my knuckles. That little scar on my pinkie, as if it matters.

“I won’t give you names,” he says. “Not details. But someone from my past… someone who should’ve stayed buried… didn’t.”

My fingers twitch against his shirt.

He strokes a hand down my back. Not soothing me out of it—just keeping me here.

“This person’s nearby,” he says. “And I need to make sure they never come close again.”

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