Page 306 of Let Me In

“God, I love you.”

The words hit harder than anything else. They make something ache in my chest in the best, worst way.

He kisses my cheek again.

“My girl. My sweet, strong girl.”

I melt into him, and he holds me like he means it—like I’m not too much, like I never was. His arms remain steady, sure, refusing to let go.

Not when my breathing evens out or the tears slow. Not even when my body softens completely against his. He just keeps holding me, like I’m something worth anchoring to, something worth staying for.

Not when my breathing evens out. Not when the tears slow. Not even when my body stills against his.

He just keeps holding me.

One hand smoothing up and down my spine in long, soothing passes.

The other is cradling the back of my head like he’s afraid I might slip away.

Eventually, he shifts. Not to break the moment, but to care for it.

To care for me.

“Let’s get you some water, baby.”

His voice is soft. Deep. Almost hoarse.

He lifts me with ease, keeps me close as he rises from the chair. I bury my face against his neck again. He doesn’t mind. Doesn’t ask me to move.

He carries me to the kitchen, sits me gently on the counter like I’m made of spun sugar, and presses a kiss to my temple.

“Stay,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back behind my ear.

I nod, dazed. Wrung out. But safe.

So, so safe.

He pours a glass of water. Cold. Perfect. Holds it to my lips until I take it in both hands and drink.

Then he pulls open the drawer by the sink, the soft scrape of wood and clink of metal grounding the moment as he rummages quietly.

When he turns back to me, there’s a soft cloth in his hand. Damp and cool.

He cups my face again. Dabs gently at my cheeks, under my eyes. Brushes away the last of the tears with such tenderness that it makes my throat ache.

“There she is,” he whispers.

I try to speak.

“I’m sor—”

He hushes me again, shaking his head, thumb brushing just under my lower lip.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Then—

“Let’s get you to bed.”

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