Page 291 of Let Me In

Like this is what he fought for.

The dogs pad ahead of us, leading the way.

And Cal—he carries me inside.

Back home.

The door clicks shut behind us.

Soft. Final.

It muffles the outside world—the wind, the trees, the last hum of the truck cooling in the drive.

Inside, everything feels warmer.

Dim, familiar, faintly sweet with the scent of tea and butter still hanging in the air.

He stops just inside the threshold.

Doesn’t put me down.

Just stands there for a moment, holding me against him like he needs to be sure. That it’s real. That I’m not going to slip away the second he loosens his grip.

His arms tighten slightly, like if he holds me hard enough, nothing can slip through the seams.

I feel his breath at the crown of my head. Hear it stutter as he exhales again, slower this time. Like his lungs are learning how to fill properly with me in his arms.

He leans forward, just slightly, and presses his forehead to mine.

His eyes close. So do mine.

Our foreheads stay touching, still wrapped around each other in the quiet.

No one speaks.

There’s no rush to.

Because we’re both still listening—to the silence inside the cabin, yes, but also to the silence inside us.

The one that finally feels safe again.

Finally feels full.

Cal turns with me still in his arms. The floor creaks softly beneath his boots, and my weight shifts closer against his chest, snug and certain, like I’m meant to be carried by him like this.

He takes the few slow steps toward the couch and eases down, sinking into the cushions with me wrapped around him. His body molds to the shape of the seat, to the shape of me—like nothing else fits quite right unless I’m there.

I stay straddled over his lap, knees tucked in beside his hips, arms looped around his neck.

He doesn’t let go.

Not even a little.

His hands move to my face, thumbs brushing the skin just beneath my eyes. The slow sweep of his touch steadies me, easing something raw in my chest. Like his hands are telling me it’s over, I’m safe, and he’s here.

And then he tips his forehead against mine again. Eyes steady, voice low and worn and soft enough to split me wide.

“Hi, baby.”

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