Page 307 of Let Me In

He lifts me once more—my legs curling automatically around his waist. I cling tighter this time, and he adjusts his hold without missing a beat, hands settling securely beneath me, like he's done this a hundred times. Like carrying me is second nature. I tuck my face into the space between his collarbone and jaw. I can feel his heartbeat there.

Strong.

Steady.

Mine.

In the bedroom, he lowers me to the sheets with care. Pulls the blankets up around me.

He lays me down on the bed like something precious.

Emptied out in the way only he can do.

He pulls the blankets up around me but pauses, holding them there like he’s torn between tucking me in tight and giving me just one more moment of care.

“Wait.”

His voice is soft. Grounded.

“Let me see, sweet girl. Just for a second. Just to make sure.”

My breath catches, but I nod.

Slow.

Trusting.

I roll to my side as he gently folds the quilt back again. His hands are careful, easing the waistband of my pants down—not to inspect, not to linger, but to tend. To make sure I’m okay. To soothe the hurt he gave with the same hands that now offer only gentleness.

He exhales when he sees. A low sound. Not relief, not regret. Just something human. Something breaking and softening all at once.

“You took it so well for me.”

His hand glides over the curve of my hip. A touch without demand. Only warmth, only presence.

“My good girl,” he murmurs. "You did so well for Daddy."

Then he moves away for a moment. I hear the low creak of the nightstand drawer. The sound of a cap being twisted open.

He returns with lotion.

A soft, unscented kind.

He kneels beside the bed, pours a little into his palm, watches it glisten in the low light, then rubs his hands together slowly. The faint sound of skin against skin, the gentle sheen of warmth—it lingers between us before he touches me again.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says quietly.

I nod, eyes fluttering closed as his hands touch me again.

This time, they’re soothing.

Slow circles. Gentle pressure. His thumbs moving with reverence over every place his palm had landed.

He’s not trying to erase it.

Just to ease the ache.

To honor it.

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