Page 165 of Swept for Forever
His hands flexed slightly, as if he were holding back a dozen rebuttals. He wasn’t used to being told no. Especially not by his son.
Autumn, God bless her, slid closer to me, her presence a quiet but powerful show of loyalty.
Dad scanned the house again, trying to mask his discomfort. “I mean, this is nice. Cozy. Even those rugs. Classy touch.”
I went still.
Maybe he thought he was making peace. But he didn’t know how badly he’d missed.
“You know why I love those rugs, Dad?”
He straightened, blindsided, like he couldn’t believe I’d fumble a point that badly. “What are you talking about?”
I stared him down. “Because they aren’t flat. Not like the ones we had in Palo Alto.”
He shifted. “Dom?”
I took a step closer. “Every time I look at a flat rug, I see Mom’s blood. Right there. Where you knocked her down. She tried to scrub it clean, but the rug was so thin that it seeped through before she could stop it.”
“Dominic—”
“Yeah, it was a dark rug,” I cut him off, shutting down the argument he hadn’t even made yet. “But you know what? I still saw it. Every damn day. Until I left that house.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered.
“Sorry?” I spat before I knew what I was doing. “Don’t say sorry to me, Dad. Say that to Mom!”
The anger boiled so fast that my hands balled into fists.
Autumn caught my arm, pulling me back. “Baby,” she called. “Come with me. Please.”
She steered me down the hall and into our bedroom, shutting the door gently behind us.
I paced, my chest heaving. “Fuck him.”
Autumn stepped into my path. “Dom.”
One word.
One look.
And suddenly, it all clicked—the rugs, the softness I’ddemanded, and the home I’d tried to build out of broken pieces. She knew the real reason now.
“Sorry about that, Otter,” I muttered.
“No.” She shook her head fiercely. “Don’t be sorry. Answer me something.”
I stopped pacing.
“You chose me, didn’t you? You chose us. Over all that?”
“I love you. Of course I did,” I answered.
Her voice broke a little. “Those rugs, they aren’t just decor. They’re your line in the sand. A way to keep the past where it belongs. But you never shy away from me when I lie there.”
I pressed my forehead to hers. “Why did he have to show up and remind me? I had forgotten all that, I swear.”
She cupped my jaw. “Maybe you never forget. But you’ve moved on. That rug—” she nodded toward the one by the bed “—you let yourself feel something there. With me. Over and over.”
