Page 45 of Deck the Halls with Cowboys
“Yeah,” he agreed, folding his arms over his chest. “Used to feel her everywhere, but now, I mainly feel her in here.”
I swallowed. I felt her presence anytime I walked into this house, but I didn’t need to tell him that. “You wanna start, or should I?”
His eyes flicked up from his boots to my face. “Pop hated Christmas.”
“Yes.”
“Loathed it,” Denver continued, looking out the window. “The Christmas after Mom passed, I wanted to do right by her. Even though it had only been less than a year, I felt this…pull to make Christmas special for all of us. Figured it would cheer Pop up at the very least.”
I took a few steps back, not stopping until my back hit the door. From there, I put my hands in my pockets, studying him. “You did?”
He nodded once, mouth tight. “Went out and cut my own tree down. Dragged it all the way to the back porch all by myself. It was a small thing—hell, I was fully expecting you to give me shit over it.”
Silence.
The room was filled with nothing but a sad silence. After a moment, my gut twisted painfully, as if my body knew this story was about to get worse.
Denver sighed, the sound heavy and exhausted. “Dad had gone out that morning to take care of the herd, so by the time I got back, the house was quiet. You were sick in bed that day, running hot with a fever that scared the shit outta me and Jigs. You remember that?”
A lump manifested in my throat, sharp like a razor. I knew if I tried to swallow it, I would be shredded. I didn’t remember much of my childhood immediately following Mom’s death. Most of my memories after her were filled with Pop and his abusive hand. At the thought, the scar on my shoulder blade began to burn, my own screams from the night he branded me ringing in my ears. “I don’t remember much after…” I trailed off, my voice cracking. I looked away from him, clearing my throat. “I remember being super sick one year around Christmas, but I didn’t know it was that one.”
My brother’s eyes flashed with regret. “Yeah, it was that one.”
“So what happened?”
He scratched his beard. “I climbed into the attic to get all of Mom’s Christmas decorations. Figured if I made the house up like she always did, I could make everyone happy for a day or so. Thenmaybe we wouldn’t feel her absence so much, but when I got up there, everything was gone. The fake tree that went in the dining room, the garland she hung from the kitchen entry, the ribbons, the Christmas balls, the countless Christmas light bins, and the light-up Santa. Hell, even the Christmas dishes that you and I painted for her…gone.”
My chest began to burn, a familiar tightness there.
“What?” I whispered.
Something new flashed in his eyes, but he blinked it away too quickly for me to decipher. “I closed up the attic and ran to tell you that someone had robbed us. But you were asleep. The only option was to wait, and while I did that, I brought the tree into the house. I did what I could with it. Then I went out onto the porch and waited for Pop. He didn’t show until after the sun had set, and I could tell right off the bat that he’d had a bad day. I didn’t think anything of it, because every day without Mom was a bad day for Pop.”
I grunted and ran a hand through my hair, taking a deep breath.
“If this is too much for you, Mase, then—”
“No,” I cut him off firmly. “We need to get through this. What triggers come with it, I’ll deal with it during my next therapy appointment.”
“Promise?”
Another failed attempt at trying to swallow that damn lump. I nodded. “Promise.”
“Pop never laid a hand on me. Since finding out about what he did to you, I’ve carried a heavy sense of guilt.”
“No, Den,” I started, shaking my head.
We weren’t going to do that. Not again. What’s done is done.
“I’m the older brother; I should’ve protected you. No matter what you do or what you say, I’ll always carry that guilt. Told my therapist the same thing. It’s just not something I can ever see myself letting go of. That’s my own burden. Not yours, Mase.”
My jaw tightened. “I don’t want you—”
“I’m working through it,” he promised me.
Another deep breathleft me. “All right, then.”
“Pop never laid a hand on me, but that night, I was certain he was close to doing so. Never seen him so angry before. When I told him we’d been robbed, he demanded to know what the hell was going on. So I told him everything. He didn’t even let me finish before he bolted inside. I followed him, foolishly thinking that he was angry that Mom’s stuff was gone.” He paused and bent his head. “I would’ve never guessed he was angry at me for trying to find it.” My eyes moved to the window, finding a snow-covered branch on the tree just outside of it to focus on. “They say that when you’re angry or scared, your brain taps into extra strength or something?” he continued. “Dad lifted that fuckin’ tree in the air and threw it across the living room so fast…I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
