Liv

Five days later

I’m walking out of Hannah’s room for the night when I hear a soft knock on my door.

Oh, thank goodness. I slouch against the wall, ready for this fight with Travis to be over. I don’t know what I was thinking when I came up with the idea of the music and light show. It’s driving me insane, even with my noise-cancelling headphones. I’m at my breaking point with it all. How he’s been able to deal with it every night for the last week, I wish I could find out.

I approach the door but grab the remote off the side table and tuck it into my pocket. Even though the music is driving me crazy, I’ll be damned if I let him see it. I refuse to show any weakness. I unlock the door without using the peephole, again, knowing he’s going to say something about it, and pull it open.

“This shit has got to stop,” a voice says, but instead of coming face-to-face with Travis, it’s Betty’s small frame glaring at me, covering her ears.

“Betty,” I exclaim and open my door further, welcoming her inside. She quickly crosses the threshold and closes the door with a sigh. The music coming from outside is muffled, but you can make out every word clearly. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s time for an intervention,” she grumbles, moving about my house and making her way into the kitchen. Which shouldn’t surprise me, since she used to own the house.

“An intervention?” I ask, following behind her. She opens the refrigerator and peeks her head inside.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She looks back at me. “You got any beer?”

“Bottom shelf,” I respond and frown. “What are you talking about, Betty?”

“That damn circus show you have going on out there.”

“What about it?”

“Don’t got anything against you, girly. In fact, I admire your tenacity. The way you’re going at it with my nephew, damn, girly, I can’t wait to see you two finally give in to the shit brewing between ya.” She takes two beers out of the fridge, pops open both bottles, and hands me one.

“Betty—”

“But I need my couch back,” she interrupts, her eyes laser focused on me.

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this? What do I have to do with your couch?”

“I take it you haven’t figured out Travis isn’t home and hasn’t been all week.” She brings the longneck bottle to her lips and tips it back, takes a long pull from it, all the while watching me with the same-colored eyes I’ve been hoping to see at my doorstep every night for the past week.

“He hasn’t?” I ask, trying my hardest to sound uninterested, but I’m all over it. Mimicking her movements, I take a pull of the cold beer, attempting to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. She smirks knowingly. Aw, fuck it. I groan and bite. “His truck is parked in the driveway.”

“You silly, naïve girl,” she chuckles and shakes her head. “He leaves his truck in the drive because he knows that’s the first thing you’ll look for. He’s been riding his motorcycle over to my place, across town, every night since Monday.”

“In this weather?”

“That’s what I said, but when a man’s desperate for some peace and quiet, he’ll freeze his balls off for it.” Betty leans against the counter, like she is waiting for me react. But I’ve given her enough for now. “So, like I said, I want my couch back. I love my nephew, but he’s turned into a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound cockblocker. And Mama needs to get herself some.”

Sometime between her knocking on my door and now, the song ended, but I know we are seconds away from it starting again, so I pull the remote out of my pocket and turn it all off.

Motherfucker!

Travis hasn’t been home since Monday, and it’s Friday now. I’ve been torturing myself every night for no damn reason.

“How have you not lost your mind? He said you were playing that damn song and light show all night long.” Her eyes widen, and I see a flash of amusement in them.

“Noise-canceling headphones. I also have the speakers placed strategically so his bedroom windows get most of the sound.”

“Your other neighbors haven’t complained?”

“I bought the block the same headphones.”

“You thought of everything, then.”

“Except this,” I admit with a deep sigh. “I’ve been torturing myself the last few nights. My bedroom windows are across from his, and there is only so long I can wear those damn headphones before they start to hurt.”

Betty laughs.

“It’s time to end the madness, girly.”

“Why is he such a grinch?”

“Is that what this is about?”

“He made Hannah cry.”

“And this is your revenge?” I say nothing because I don’t need to. She’s already figured everything out. She watches me a moment longer before shaking her head. “Travis hates Christmas. A lot of bad shit has happened to our family around the holidays.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Travis was seven, his grandfather, my father, died two days after Christmas. He’d been battling prostate cancer for almost six months. It rocked the foundation of our family, but it affected Travis in a deep way. His grandfather was the only real father he’d ever known.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper, feeling a wave of sadness fall over the room. She nods, brushing off my condolences.

“The man was a pain in the ass, but he was good to Travis.” She pauses briefly but doesn’t stop there. “When he was eleven, he fell off his brand-new bike on Christmas morning and broke his arm in three places. He was in a cast for almost six months. They had to re-break the bones twice.”

“Shit, but I don’t understand why that would make him hate Christmas.”

“This pattern went on for years. Until four years ago, when he experienced the final straw and swore off the holiday altogether.”

“There’s more?”

“I wish I could say there wasn’t, but his story isn’t mine to tell. He doesn’t want to celebrate a holiday that has been anything but merry for him. Travis isn’t the only one in our family who has chosen to ignore the holiday.”

“But you celebrate Christmas,” I point out, taking another pull at my beer.

“I’m not them,” she explains, setting her finished beer on the counter. “The shit that’s happened to Travis, you’d hate the holiday, too.”

I hang my head, taking in what she’s told me, and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. I never truly considered the reasons behind his aversion to the holiday. If I had, I wouldn’t have turned into the neighbor from hell.

“Tell him I’ll turn off the music, but not the lights. The lights are for Hannah,” I tell her and lift my hand to my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “And I’ll cancel the live animals for the nativity scene I had planned for Christmas Eve.”