Page 298 of Let Me In

And the tension, the last stubborn thread of guilt twisted up in my ribs, finally lets go.

I sigh into his chest. Nuzzle closer.

He wraps both arms around me and tucks the quilt higher.

“Rest now,” he murmurs into my hair. “That’s all you need to do.”

And I do.

For the first time since he left.

The room is warm and hushed. Just the steady hum of the baseboard heater, the occasional creak of wood settling deep into its bones.

I feel the weight of the day falling away, second by second.

Cal holds me close, arms wrapped fully around me now, one hand curled at the back of my head, the other stroking slowly up and down my spine.

His touch never stops. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t press.

Just reminds me.

That I’m safe.

That he’s home.

The dogs leap up one by one—first Cleo, who curls into the crook behind my knees like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment. Then Luca, heavier and slower, settles at Cal’s feet with a soft, protective grunt. His chin drops between his paws. His tail thumps once against the mattress.

Cal doesn’t move them.

Doesn’t flinch.

He just lets them stay.

Lets all of us stay.

My fingers curl into the flannel stretched across his chest. His heart is slower now. Quieter.

Like mine.

I shift a little closer. Press my mouth to the side of his neck.

“Love you,” I whisper.

A breath, not even meant to be heard.

But he hears it anyway.

His hand slides into my hair instead, fingertips grazing my scalp before resting there—firm and warm and grounding. I lean into it without thinking, instinctive and small, like my body recognizes the gesture before my mind does. His lips graze my temple.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

And that’s the last thing I remember before sleep finally takes me—

Safe.

Held.

Home.

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