Page 90 of Let Me In

Just wraps me up. One arm tight around my back, the other sealing around my shoulders, tugging me flush to his chest. He smells like wind and cotton and something steadier than all of it—something that tells my body we’re okay now. The warmth of him bleeds into me, quiet and sure, and I let it. I let it hold me together.

One arm around my back, the other around my shoulders, tugging me into his chest like he can’t stand to leave even an inch of me untouched.

The air goes out of me all at once.

I fold into him.

Like I was always meant to fit there.

Like this was the only ending possible.

His hand slides up, warm and firm, to cradle the back of my head. And I feel it—the tension in him. The way he’s holding me not just close, but together. Like maybe he’d fall apart without me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the thick cotton of his shirt. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought it was the only chance, and I—I had the tracker, I was careful—”

His voice cuts through the air low and rough.

“You scared me, little one,” he says, and something inside me catches. He doesn’t say things like that—not often. Hearing it from him, hearing the fear instead of anger, lands low in my chest. Like an ache and a balm all at once. "More than I’ve been scared in a long time.”

Not angry.

Not even disappointed.

Just raw.

Honest.

I nod, because I don’t know what else to do. I want to disappear into him.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say again.

His lips press into my hair. A slow, quiet kiss that makes my knees weaken.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, baby. You did well. I saw what you did.”

Something in me stutters.

“I’m proud of you.”

My eyes sting.

“But don’t ever do it alone again.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

And I mean it.

Because I can’t do this alone.

Not anymore.

Not when I have this—his arms around me, his voice steady in my ear, his heart beating like it’s synced to mine.

I breathe him in.

And for the first time since I saw that car, I don’t feel brave.

I just feel safe.

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