Page 89 of Let Me In

I know I did.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice lost in the wind. “Please don’t be mad.”

My phone’s still in my pocket. I haven’t looked at it.

I can’t.

Not yet.

I just walk.

Back toward the trail, toward the gate.

Back toward whatever version of safety I haven’t entirely broken yet.

But then—I hear the engine before I see it.

Low and steady, cutting through the wind.

And then his truck, emerging from the treeline like something inevitable.

Like something sent.

A tight breath locks in my throat before I can stop it.

He’s coming fast, but not wild. Controlled.Cal.Every movement is measured, precise. But his jaw is tight. His eyes locked on me like I’ve just undone him.

I go still.

The wind brushes past my face. The sea murmurs somewhere beyond the grass.

And I brace.

Because I broke the rule.

Because I stepped into something I wasn’t meant to.

Because even though I did it to help, even though I was careful—I know him. I know what fear does to a man like him. I’ve seen it in his eyes, that flicker of panic he tries to bury with calm. I remember the way his jaw tightened the first time I mentioned the car. How he turned it into silence, into action. How fear doesn’t freeze him—it sharpens him. How it coils around his ribs and tries to harden him.

And I’m scared I might’ve been the one to do that.

The truck door slams.

He’s out.

Striding across the field.

Closing the space between us like the Earth’s too small to keep us apart.

“I just—” I try, voice already cracking.

But I don’t get to finish.

Because suddenly—I’m in his arms.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t hesitate.

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