Live Without You Read online

  “I’m so, so sorry, Piper,” he whispered, meeting her eyes. “I had no idea.” She nodded an acknowledgment, staring off into the distance, rubbing the heel of one hand with the fingers of the other, no doubt lost in a different world, a different time. He patted her arm and she looked at him. “Please let me know if I can help you in any way.” He swallowed—hard. “Anything.”

  Piper nodded again, this time with a faint smile. “Thank you, Ezra.” She paused. “I hope this doesn’t sound strange, but . . . I’ve missed you.” She seemed to want to add more, but didn’t.

  Ezra wanted to ask so desperately how Paul had died. But he wouldn’t. Piper obviously still needed some distance from the subject, and he would do some checking around later.

  He cleared his throat and tried to find a new topic. “So. When did you move to the gorgeous state of Washington?” He sat back in his chair and kept his tone purposefully light. Piper relaxed against the pillows behind her back, clearly glad for the change of subject.

  “Only a few months ago. I’d been wanting to leave Chicago for awhile, and the timing was right and my job allowed it, so . . . I did.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “I'm a freelance web developer and graphic designer.”

  He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. That’s awesome.”

  They chatted for another fifteen minutes on trivial matters, such as coffee—she hated it, he couldn’t live without it—and so on, the ease between them growing. Years couldn’t completely disintegrate a long-time friendship.

  “So when and how are you going home? You can’t drive.” He gestured to her arm. “Do you have someone to take you?”

  “Today, finally. Cecile said she’d get the discharge papers ready. And I . . . guess I hadn’t thought much about the second part of your question. Figured I’d call a taxi. I don’t know anyone here yet.” The thought seemed to pain her.

  Ezra raised his eyebrows and sought to keep the smirk off his face. “This isn’t the big city, y’know. We don’t have taxis. An Uber, maybe, if you’re lucky.” He winked. “And you know me.”

  Piper’s face fell. “Oh. I guess I didn’t think of that . . .”

  He couldn’t help himself and started laughing. “I guess you haven’t been here long, have you? I’ll take you home,” he said as if the matter was decided.

  Surprise widened her eyes. “Oh no, I can’t ask you to do that! I’ll figure something out,” she protested.

  “Got news for you, Miss Redding, you didn’t ask—I offered.” He gave an elaborate bow. “Taxi driver at your service.”

  She giggled and bit her lip, thinking. “All right, fine. But you have to promise to take some Christmas cookies off my hands. I made way too many last week.”

  Ezra straightened. “Hey, I’ll do almost anything for cookies. You’ve got a deal.” He put out his hand and gave hers a playful shake.

  T wo police officers showed up to speak with her before she was discharged from the hospital. Somehow, Ezra’s silent presence was comforting as she answered their intimidating questions. Finally, after the officers left, after paperwork and lectures from her doctor, and more lectures and hugs from Cecile, Piper was free.

  She followed Ezra out of the hospital into the snow-covered parking lot, having refused the offered wheelchair. Her purse was draped over her right shoulder and the duffel bag the hospital had given her for her belongings was in Ezra’s hands.

  Tilting her face towards the sunlight while she walked, she breathed deeply of the pine-scented air. She was so ready to be home. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she paused and took a deep breath, waiting for it to pass. Her doctor had said that would be normal for the first few weeks because of the blood loss. She glanced up to see Ezra standing at her shoulder, watching her intently.

  “Dizzy?” he asked.

  She nodded and took another breath, then winced as it stabbed pain through her shoulder. Why did everything have to hurt? Piper started walking again, and Ezra just silently took her arm, allowing her to lean on him for the rest of the short walk to his car.

  He stopped beside an olive-colored Subaru Impreza and clicked the unlock button on the fob. “This is it.” He tossed her duffel into the back seat and opened the passenger side door for her.

  She smiled up at him before climbing in the car. He wasn’t your cliché “tall, dark, and handsome,” but there was a compelling sincerity in his square face and green eyes, and his brown hair glinted in the sunlight.

  She buckled the seat belt over herself while taking note of the cleanliness of the car. For a guy’s car, it was surprisingly clean, and while definitely not new, it was clear the owner took good care of it.

  “Nice car,” she said as Ezra seated himself in the driver's seat and started the ignition.

  He grinned at her and petted the dash. “Thanks. She’s my baby. So where are we going?” He glanced over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space and pulled out of the lot.

  Piper hid a grimace at the twinge in her shoulder as he went over a small bump. The pain meds the doctor had given her worked well—unless something bumped her or she moved her arm. “I live on Taylor Street, just off of Fir Avenue. Do you know that area?”

  He squinted in thought. “Mm, yep, I think so. Here—” He pulled his phone out of the cupholder and handed it to her. “Plug your address in on the GPS app. That’ll be easiest.” She did so, and set the phone back on the dash when she finished.

  A peaceful silence descended on the car as she watched the scenery blur past. She’d only been in this part of town once or twice since moving, so the area was mostly unfamiliar. Within minutes the quiet whir of the car was slowly lulling her. Her shoulder was starting to throb, too, and she couldn’t wait to curl up on the comfy couch in her living room. She leaned her head back against the headrest and out of the corner of her eye saw Ezra glancing her way every so often. “What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

  “Are you doing okay?” He seemed concerned.

  “Mmhm. Just tired. Thanks for asking.” Piper leaned her head back again and closed her eyes.

  “You know, you should take it easy for the next few weeks. Gunshot wounds are not something to be messed with. And if you feel any—”

  Piper raised a hand and cut him off. “Ezra, please. I’ve heard that same lecture twice already.”

  He chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s the medic in me . . .”

  Piper flashed him a brief grin. “Trust me, I know. I lived with one . . .” Her voice caught and she swallowed, turning her gaze out the window and away from the man whose mere presence was dredging up so many memories she had tried to forget.

  There was silence again for a few moments before Ezra spoke softly. “Want to talk about it?”

  She didn’t have to think twice about her answer. “No.” No, she didn’t want to talk about it. No, she didn’t want to think about it, remember it. And yes . . . she wanted to erase the event from history.

  Ezra chewed on the inside of his cheek and gripped the wheel tighter, glancing again at Piper out of the corner of his eye. Even six years later, it was clear this woman still wrestled with her brother’s death. He didn’t even know how his friend had died, but he wanted to help her. The gotta-fix-it part of him screamed at him to do something, fix it, make it better. However he’d died, Paul wouldn’t have wanted his baby sister to live like this. Paul had doted on his only sibling.

  He would help her—in any way he could.

  For Paul’s sake.

  Ezra turned the corner and pulled into the driveway the GPS called out as Piper’s. The house was small—only a few hundred square feet, he’d guess. Square, painted white with blue trim work and Christmas lights everywhere, it looked distinctly Piper-like. Classy. Her dark gray Accord sat in the driveway, courtesy of the Arlington police department, he knew. Piper sat up and reached to unbuckle herself, then sucked in a breath in pain. Ezra reached over and unclicked her belt before resting a hand on
her knee. She looked so pale.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  On a slow exhale, she said, “I will be. Apparently I need to find those painkillers the doctor gave me sooner rather than later.” She pushed her door open and carefully slid out, and he did the same, grabbing her duffel and a cardboard box from the back seat. He followed her up the walkway through the few inches of snow that had accumulated over the weekend and watched while she unlocked the front door. She motioned him to enter ahead of her, then frowned when she noted the box in his arms.

  “What’s in the box?”

  “Food. The ladies at my church compiled some things for the victims of the shooting.” As he talked, he stepped into her entryway and slipped his wet boots off. Looking behind him, he saw that she still stood outside the door, staring at him. He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.

  “But . . . but . . .” She finally stepped in and shut the door. “Why? They don’t know me.”

  He shrugged. “They don’t have to. They just wanted to help.”

  She smiled gratefully. “Thank them for me.”

  Ezra nodded, glancing at his surroundings as she led him further into the house. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. It’s taken a bit, but it’s finally starting to feel like home.”

  The entryway let into the open main area, with the dining room and kitchen beyond it. The walls were mainly white, with blue and blue-gray accents and a homey wood trim throughout. Eclectic but peaceful-looking decor was everywhere, yet somehow the house still maintained an uncluttered atmosphere. Christmas lights were strung anywhere possible—as they always were at Paul’s home in Chicago every Christmas time he could remember. Piper had always loved Christmas lights. One area that caught his attention was the front corner of the living room. A desk sat there, buried underneath a myriad of technology: three monitors with several cords snaking across and under the desk, two keyboards, and various other unidentifiable objects. He never was much for tech, but it was clear Piper was.

  Ezra turned to watch as Piper unzipped her coat and awkwardly tried to pull it off without the use of her injured arm that was still in a sling. He stepped up behind her. “Let me.” She huffed and let him gently tug it off, taking care not to bump her shoulder. She sighed in relief.

  “Thanks. This is going to take some getting used to,” she said, gesturing to the sling. “Do you want some hot cocoa or anything? I can’t thank you enough for bringing me home.”

  Ezra paused, then shook his head, noting the gray edging her eyes and her pale cheeks. “No, thanks. I have to get to work—I have the evening shift—and you should take some of your pain meds and a nap.”

  She rolled her eyes, her tired grin belying her annoyance. “Yes, Mother . . . But really, thank you for everything.” Her tone changed from sarcasm to sincerity, her brown eyes bright with gratitude. “Oh! The cookies!” She walked towards the kitchen and pulled a tin out of a cupboard.

  Ezra shook his head and called after her. “I didn’t do anything worth talking about, but . . . you’re welcome.” She came back and handed him the tin, and he took it with a smile. “Thanks. Let me know if you need anything at all. I’d be more than happy to bring you some groceries or something.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket on which he’d already scribbled his name and phone number and handed it to her.

  Piper took it, glanced at it, and nodded. “I’ll text you so you have my number.”

  “Great.” He turned towards the door, but paused at her voice.

  “Ezra?”

  He looked back at her and was worried by the look on her face. “Yes?”

  “Who . . . how many . . . others . . . ?”

  He’d been hoping she wouldn’t ask him that. “Two.”

  Piper just continued to look at him. Swallowing hard, he answered her unspoken question. “Dead. Both of them.”

  Horror, grief, and what he recognized as a deep, indescribable pain simultaneously flashed across her face for brief seconds before it disappeared behind a solid wall of stoicism. The raw intensity and subsequent transformation both shocked and scared him. Just as it had at the hospital.

  “And the shooter?”

  He shook his head. “The police arrested him late Friday night.”

  As Ezra got into his car and headed towards the department, he sent a quick prayer heavenward. “Lord, let me be a blessing to Piper. Heal her heart, Father . . . she needs your love.”

  He drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs. What had happened to Paul anyway? He would have been . . . Ezra quickly did the mental math. Twenty-four. Too young to die, most would say. But Ezra knew better. Everything happens for a reason. Although he of all people would know it didn’t make the pain any less. . . .

  Piper stepped to the window and watched Ezra stride down the driveway to his car, slide in, and drive off.

  Ezra Bryant.

  Of all people.

  She’d left Chicago to rid herself of the constant reminders—and the guilt that came with them—of a man named Paul Redding.

  Her brother. Her best friend. The only person who had actually, really, cared and been there for her. The one person who had protected her.

  Then he had left too. Just like all the others. And it was her fault.

  She shook her head to clear the thoughts of Paul and Ezra and swallowed down the guilt that rose like bile in her throat. Turning and taking a deep breath, she winced at the pain that shot through her shoulder and the accompanying dizziness. Where did she put the medicine the doctor had given her? She dug through the duffel bag Ezra had deposited on the couch, then dug through her purse before finally finding the small yellow bottle.

  Piper popped two of the white caplets in her mouth and swallowed them with a sip of water. A nap sounded more than wonderful, but the food Ezra had brought needed to find a home first. She made short work of sorting through the box despite being one-handed. Three casseroles, a pasta dish, two mason jars of soup, and brownies. She put most of the items in the freezer, leaving out a jar of soup for her dinner.

  Finished, she glanced around her house—and sighed deeply. It was a mess, as it usually was. But it was a job for another time . . . She was exhausted.

  Piper dropped to the couch and tugged the fuzzy duck-egg-blue blanket hanging over the back onto her body. Fatigue—physical and mental—pulled her eyelids shut and within minutes, she was asleep.

  E zra unlocked his apartment door, entered, and shut it behind himself, throwing the deadbolt in place. He yawned and checked the time on the clock hanging on the far wall. 8:27 a.m. Working the graveyard shift wasn’t his first choice, but since most of the other EMS workers had families, he’d opted to.

  He strode to his small bedroom off the main area, dropped his bag on the bed, and changed out of his uniform. After bumping up the thermostat a few notches, he headed to the kitchen and pulled eggs and cheese out of the refrigerator, making himself a breakfast sandwich. Grabbing his antiquated laptop off the couch, he sat and took a bite of his meal as he waited for it to boot up. And waited. And waited. Maybe he should ask Piper about upgrading the old beast.

  He typed in his login information and took a deep breath, opened the browser window, and typed keywords into the search engine. Paul Redding, Chicago.

  He scrolled through the search results, finding a website for a photographer and several social media profiles. Not helpful. Adding a few more specific words, he pressed the enter key and held his breath.

  Now this was more like it. He clicked the first link—an obituary for Paul Aaron Redding, age twenty-four, passed away nearly six years ago on January twenty-second. The article mentioned surviving family members, his brief career as a paramedic, etc. But nothing about how or why he had died. Ezra backtracked to the search results and scrubbed a hand across his eyes, swallowing the emotion burning in his throat. Scrolling a bit further, he found a news article dated three days after Paul’s death.

  Man Caught in Crosshairs of Gang Fight

&
nbsp; “Paul A. Redding, a paramedic with the City of East Chicago Emergency Medical Services, was killed on January 22, 2011, at approximately 9:30 p.m. Redding was on foot, allegedly heading to his home when shooting broke out in a nearby alleyway. He was hit in the chest and arm by stray bullets, and was pronounced dead on arrival by emergency personnel. The shooter has been identified as a known gang member, who is now in custody of . . .”

  Ezra’s eyes stopped reading as his mind struggled to comprehend what he’d just read. Eyes burning, he rubbed a palm down his face as he fought to keep a hold on the grief that gripped him tightly. Paul didn’t just die. He’d been murdered. How had he not known? He should have known. He and Paul had been close nearly all their lives, it felt like. But then Ezra had left. And never apologized. If only he had known. . . .

  He shoved his sandwich aside, appetite now gone, and blinked away the tears clouding his vision. His heart ached. For Paul, a life so senselessly lost. For Piper, and all she’d lost. And for himself. For missed opportunities and broken friendships.

  A volley of gunshots poured forth from the nearby alleyway and she found herself frozen. She couldn’t scream, react. She felt like she was a stone figurine—until her brother’s guttural shout broke through the haze just before he tackled her, his lean, muscled body taking her painfully to the cold, wet pavement. Then there was silence. Still, empty, silence.

  And blood. So much blood.

  It flowed over her, causing nausea to swirl in her belly. She fought the panic clawing at her throat and rolled out from underneath the still form of her brother. She got to her knees, and looked down. Crimson soaked her sweater, her hands, and felt slick on her cheek. She looked to her brother, but he was gone. A pool of blood on the pavement was all that was left.

  A scream rent the air, and she barely recognized it as coming from her own throat.