Page 296 of Let Me In

We stay there, pressed together under the spray, for what feels like forever.

I breathe him in. The soap. The heat still rising off his skin.

His hands stay on my waist. Mine over his heart.

Then, quietly, I speak.

“Next, we rest.”

He lets out a sound—low and rough and wrecked.

It rumbles through his chest, deep against my cheek.

A laugh, but not a light one. It’s gutted. Disbelieving. Like I’ve just handed him something he never thought he’d be allowed to want.

I smile, first time since he left.

A real one.

He tilts his head down. “Is that so, little one?”

My voice is smaller now, but sure.

“Yes, Daddy.”

His breath stutters.

I feel it under my cheek. Feel it in the way his fingers flex at my sides.

Then something shifts.

Like a current pulling back to shore.

Like a center realigning.

He moves with purpose now.

Reaches behind me. Turns the knob until the stream cuts off, leaving only the sound of water dripping down tile, the hush of steam cooling in the air.

He grabs a towel.

Dries me first.

Gently, methodically. Over my shoulders, around my waist, down my legs. Kneeling to pat each foot in turn. Every move is deliberate. Focused. Like nothing else exists in this moment but me—and making sure I feel his care in every inch of it. Like this is his duty. His peace.

And I feel it.

Feel him coming back into himself.

Into the rhythm of us.

By the time he rises again, towel in hand, I’m not just clean.

I’m anchored.

And when his eyes meet mine, they’re steadier now.

Softer.

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