Live Without You

by Sarah Grace Grzy

  “I’m fine, I just . . . my head hurts a little.” Piper inwardly winced at the white lie. Tyler just stood up and threw away the pizza boxes, but Ezra studied her for a moment more, looking like he didn’t quite believe it. He was a paramedic, after all.

  She pushed to her feet. “Thank you guys for coming over and bringing pizza. I appreciated the company.” Well, she did, even if she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  “Our pleasure,” Ezra said. “Feel free to text me if you need anything. Like another pizza fix.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I will.” She turned to Tyler, “It was nice to meet you, Tyler.”

  He gave a cheeky grin. “You too, m’lady.”

  She saw them out the door with a final goodbye, then closed it and sagged against it. Now she really did have a headache. Her heart and mind were waging a war, and she finally admitted a fact she’d been shoving away for so long.

  She was lonely.

  Ezra dropped Tyler off at his house and relished the silent, snowy drive to his own apartment. He could finally think. As much as he liked the guy, Tyler didn’t know the meaning of silence.

  He hadn’t realized until today how much he missed Piper. She’d been like a little sister to him. Both being three years older, he and Paul had almost equally shared the big brother role. They were her protectors, her confidants, and her counselors. He remembered a time when her sixteen-year-old-self had come to Paul’s house from school in tears because of some jerks who had teased her mercilessly.

  He always did hate to see her cry.

  Paul had been all for taking names and beating the bullies up—he’d been absolutely livid—but Ezra just patted her back and told her to ignore them—they didn’t know what they were talking about anyway.

  They were their own little family.

  Between Paul and Piper’s all-but-abusive parents and Ezra’s terminally-ill mother, Paul’s apartment became a safe haven for the three friends. There was peace and laughter . . . and Ezra didn’t have to watch his mother die a little more every day.

  He shook his head to clear the memories and turned his thoughts to the more recent past. Piper had all but shoved them out the door. That wasn’t like her at all. She’d seemed fine at first, even ganging up on him with Tyler. But then she’d been near-silent throughout the meal and ended the impromptu lunch abruptly. She’d claimed to have a headache, but Ezra wasn’t buying it. He racked his brain trying to think of something he or Ty might have said to cause the sharp change and the sudden hardness to fill her clear brown eyes.

  It was almost as if she had erected a wall. As if . . . as if she were protecting herself, shutting herself in. Protecting herself from . . . him? Or from people in general?

  He sighed and switched off the ignition after pulling into his designated spot under the carport at his apartment complex. He stood staring out across the field to the distant mountains behind the buildings, letting the cold wind whip snowflakes around him, cutting through his down jacket. He didn’t want to be pushy, but he wanted to help Piper. It was clear her brother’s death had changed her from the Piper he knew into something different. . . .

  Death had a way of doing that.

  But he didn’t think she’d let him in. If she was set on that path, she was set to self-destruct. He would know. After his mother’s death, he’d locked everyone out—his father, his friends . . . even God.

  But then he’d reached rock-bottom, and it was a time he never wanted to experience again—a time of utter loneliness and despair where he’d actually considered taking his own life. Thank God for his father, who helped him get straight again.

  He’d do anything to keep someone else from reaching that point, especially Piper. He couldn’t let her, no matter how hard she tried to push him away. No matter how deep inside she locked herself up.

  And he couldn’t help but feel that it was partially his fault. . . .

  Ezra whispered a prayer into the wind before turning and trudging up the steps to his apartment. It was one p.m. and he was beat. As he reached the top of the steps, he heard a strange mewling sound. He stopped, turned, and cocked his head, listening. There it was again, coming from the far corner of the dark hallway. He stepped closer, and two tiny green eyes peered out of the shadows. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he flicked the flashlight app on. It illuminated a tiny, scrawny, tiger-calico cat cowering in the shadows, mewling loudly, mournfully. Who’d leave such a tiny cat all alone in a hallway? It couldn’t have been more than eight weeks old. But perhaps the better questions was, what was a cat doing in a no-pets apartment building?

  He sighed, realizing he didn’t have a choice. This was not going to be fun, but he couldn't very well leave it there. Scooping it up, he held it in one hand, as far from his face as possible. He could already feel his eyes starting to itch—or maybe it was just his imagination.

  Even though this was a no-pets building, he’d ask the neighbors if it was their kitten. After knocking on the last door and receiving the same emphatic denial of any knowledge of the cat, Ezra groaned in frustration. Now what? If he kept it—at least until he found a home for it—he would be sneezing his head off in a matter of hours—or minutes. But what other choice did he have? He blew out a breath through pursed lips and glanced at the kitten, curled up contentedly in his palm, soaking up his heat, a purr trying to rumble. “This is all your fault, you know. You’re just trouble . . . in fact, that’s what I’ll call you—Trouble.” He grunted. “Fitting.” Then rolled his eyes. Twenty-nine years old, and he was talking to a cat.

  He stalked to his door and fished the key out of his pocket. After letting himself in and locking the door again, he surveyed his pristine home, then looked at the cat again. He gingerly set the kitten—Trouble—right in front of the door. “Now stay. I’ll be right back.”

  He jogged to the spare bedroom and dug through the mess therein until he found a large cardboard box. “Aha!” Grabbing it, he jogged back to the door where he’d left the kitten. The kitten that was nowhere in sight.

  Letting loose an exaggerated groan, he ran a hand down his face, then stared at it as he realized what he’d done. He turned and washed his hands and face thoroughly in the kitchen sink. This afternoon was not going how he’d wanted it to. All he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep after a long workday, and instead, he was chasing a kitten—one he very much didn’t want—around his apartment. He pulled an antihistamine bottle out of the cabinet and downed two tablets to stave off the allergy symptoms he knew were about two seconds from hitting en masse. He then pulled on a pair of latex gloves and dropped to his hands and knees.

  “Psst, Trouble! Here, kitty! Where did you GO?” He managed to keep the first part of his sentence coaxing, but it had become angry by the last words. If anyone heard him yelling at a cat . . . he’d be doubly in trouble. Both with his landlord and his neighbors, who would undoubtedly think him crazy. He blew out a breath and continued his search.

  “Ah! There you are, you little . . . thing.” He plucked the kitten up off the couch pillow it had decided to curl up on and carried it over to the box he had found. “There. Now you’re not going anywhere.” He sneezed and the kitten looked up at him and mewed pitifully. “Don’t you dare look at me like that!” He was too much of a softie for his own good. Ezra scrounged up an old sheet and put it on the box, then poured some milk in a dish and some canned chicken in another and put those in the box as well.

  “There. Now stop complaining.” The little kitten dug into the food as if it hadn’t seen any in days—which it probably hadn’t. He watched it for a moment, then grunted. “A thank you would be nice.”

  Now he was going to bed.

  He sneezed, then blinked as his eyes watered.

  A fter tossing and turning—and sneezing—all afternoon, Ezra finally strode into work, bleary-eyed and with a pack of tissues in his pocket. He caught Tyler’s eye and the man did a double take before walking over to him.

  “Whoa, dude, you
look like something the cat dragged in. What happened?”

  “A cat drug me in. Dragged me in? Whatever.” Ezra chuckled. Tyler sent him a concerned look and he sighed. “I found a kitten outside my apartment when I got home, and of course, I couldn’t just leave it there.”

  “Of course,” was all Tyler said, but Ezra had a feeling he was barely restraining a hearty laugh at his expense.

  “I need to find a home for it, as this—” he waved a hand in the general direction of his own face— “is not going to work.”

  Tyler, again restraining a chuckle, nodded and looked thoughtful.

  Ezra continued. “I was thinking maybe one of the families at church would want a kitten.”

  Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Hey! What about asking Piper What’s-her-name if she wants to take it? She seems like the type of gal who would love a kitten in the house.”

  Ezra smacked his forehead. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it?” Tyler’s conjecture wasn’t actually that far off. She would always be bringing wounded and neglected animals off the streets of the Chicago suburbs home with her. Until her parents put a stop to it. Then she started bringing them to Paul. “I’ll take it to her first thing tomorrow.”

  “Great. Now go take an allergy tablet or something. You look like a freak.”

  Ezra sent his friend a glare, but its effects were probably minimized by his red, swollen eyes. “Wow. Thanks a lot, friend.”

  Tyler slapped him on the back before turning to finish his coffee. “No problemo, man.”

  Piper groggily pushed herself out of bed. Sleep was overrated. Who needed sleep? Not if it was riddled with nightmares. These ones were different though. Instead of being about her brother, Ezra was in them, too. He and Paul—and Tyler was there somewhere too; she heard his laugh—were walking away from her, laughing, paying no attention to her as she screamed at them to come back. She wanted to chase after them, but something pinned her arms, held her in place.

  She shook her head. Sleep was definitely overrated. Pulling her bathrobe on, she plodded to the kitchen, wishing she drank coffee. The caffeine would be appreciated right now. Instead, she made herself a mug of hot cocoa, the need for comfort stronger than the need for energy.

  Mug in hand, she curled up on the couch with one of her favorite historical novels. Peace settled her mind and heart at the familiarity of routine and the homelike comfort of her favorite drink and story combined. The Christmas lights she kept up year round twinkled at her cheerily, brightening her mood. Maybe today wouldn’t be such a wretched day after all. If she ignored the grogginess from the sleepless night and the slight throbbing in her shoulder, she could pretend that everything was normal.

  That she wasn’t shot a week ago.

  That her brother’s best friend hadn’t shown up, bringing with him a passel of memories and guilt that she thought she’d buried years ago.

  That she wasn’t lonely—that she was happy being alone. . . .

  That there wasn’t a black hole in her heart that used to be filled by love, light, laughter and peace—all things that had abandoned her on the twenty-second of January, six years ago.

  Pretending was easier than facing reality.

  So Piper finished her drink and book, took a shower, got dressed and sat down at her computer to work, although it was difficult to do so with her dominant hand still in a sling. She was just about finished putting the final touches on a new corporate client’s website. Which meant a large check with her name on it would be arriving soon, and the first thing she planned to do was go to the Barnes and Noble in town and splurge on at least three new books she’d been looking forward to reading—maybe a few more. Thankfully she’d be able to drive by then.

  She buckled down to finish the task and was nearly finished when a knock interrupted her concentration. She pushed herself upright from her hunched position squinting at the monitor. Who would be knocking at this hour? She checked her watch. 9:30.

  Taking the few steps from her corner desk to the door, she pulled it open and her eyes widened. “Ezra? What are you doing here? Are you okay?” He stood with his hands behind his back, his face red and eyes puffy and bloodshot.

  He grimaced. “I’m fine. Or I will be. But I need your help.”

  “My help?” Confusion was undoubtedly written all over her face.

  “Yes, but may I come in?”

  “Oh!” Piper pulled the door open wider and stepped aside, shivering in the cool wind that blew in along with Ezra. He sneezed into his shoulder, then held out the item he’d been holding behind his back—a small box—to her. She sent him another confused look as she took it, but he just grinned, offering no explanation.

  She opened the box. And blinked. “Oh, Ezra . . . ,” she breathed. Scooping up the tiny kitten, she cradled it against her chest and dropped the box. Gray, white, and tan mixed in splashes across the scrawny kitten’s back, and it mewed softly, then purred, a barely audible sputtering that sounded like a reluctant motor starting up. Piper looked up at Ezra. “Where did you get her?”

  He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, a shy grin on his face. “My apartment building hallway, believe it or not. I couldn’t just leave it there with how cold it’s been.”

  “Aw! You’re such a softie.” The kitten nosed around in her hands and Piper let it climb up onto her shoulder where it sat, surveying her new surroundings.

  Ezra laughed. “I think that title belongs to you.”

  She sent him a bittersweet smile, remembering all the times Paul had lovingly accused her of being too soft-hearted. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Anyway, I couldn’t keep it because my apartment has a no pets rule, not to mention, I’m allergic to cats.” He grimaced again and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t look like he got much sleep last night either.

  “So Ty suggested I give it to you.”

  “Her,” she corrected.

  He blinked. “How do you know it’s a her?”

  Piper rolled her eyes. “It’s obvious. She’s a calico, and all calicos are female.”

  “Oh.” There was silence for a few moments as they both watched the kitten clamber over Piper. Ezra cleared his throat. “I thought maybe I could take you to the store to get whatever you need for it—her?”

  Piper’s eyes widened at his suggestion. “Oh!” Wait. No. Well . . . Piper’s desire to get out of the house after being cooped up for days won out over her reluctance to spending time with Ezra. Simply knowing she couldn’t drive made her all the more restless. “Actually, that’d be great. Thanks. I do need some groceries too, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” He smiled, his green eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that was so familiar.

  She glanced down at her casual tunic and leggings. “I’ll be right back. You can hold—never mind.” She started to give the kitten over to Ezra before stopping and putting the kitten back in the box she’d come in and setting it by the couch. “Help yourself to a drink or something. I’ll only be a minute,” she called over her shoulder as she headed to her room.

  Closing the door behind her, she quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a nicer tunic, pulled her medium-length red-brown hair into a low side pony, and grabbed her purse, tossing a few items in it. She glanced in the mirror and grimaced at the dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a racoon. But nothing to be done for it. She left her room and Ezra turned from perusing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined a portion of the living room wall.

  “You look nice.”

  She laughed. “Ha! But that’s sweet of you to say.”

  “No, I’m serious!” he insisted, face earnest. She just rolled her eyes and quickly swallowed two of the pain pills. But a tiny spot in her heart thawed a little. Nobody—except maybe Paul—ever complimented her and actually seemed genuine.

  “Ready?”

  “Mmhm.” Piper pulled her coat on, leaving her left arm still in a sling inside of the coat. Giving the now-sleeping kitten a parting pat on the head, she p
ulled the door open and let Ezra pass before locking it and closing it behind her. Carefully maneuvering her way across the icy driveway, she looked up to see Ezra holding the passenger’s side door of his car open for her.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled as she slid in. He just smiled and shut the door behind her, then climbed in on his own side and pulled out of the drive.

  After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “How’s your shoulder doing?”

  She shrugged and sat her purse on the floor at her feet. “Pretty good, I guess. Mostly just throbs a lot. I can’t wait till I can drive again. I feel so cooped up knowing I can’t.” Why was she rambling? Stop rambling.

  Ezra tsked sympathetically. “Just give it another week or so. Your muscles got torn up pretty badly.”

  She nodded and watched the tall, snow-covered pines pass in a whir as they left the outskirts of town behind. “So what should I name the kitten?”

  He slanted her a glance. “Well, I named it Trouble . . .”

  Piper choked on her laughter and a grin slid across Ezra’s face. “What kind of name is that?!”

  “A fitting one, after all the trouble she gave me.”

  Piper shook her head. “You can’t name a sweet little thing like her that!”

  “Fine then, name her something cute like Fluffles,” Ezra shot back.

  “I don’t do cutesy.” She rolled her eyes.

  Ezra chuckled and shook his head. “Of course not.”

  Piper just made a face at him and turned back to the window. It struck her again how familiar their banter felt. It felt like old times—better times. Happy times. A sigh escaped her.

  “What?”

  She started. “Oh, um . . . nothing really. How about Finley?”

  He tilted his head side to side as if weighing it in his mind. “Sure, I like it. It’s sophisticated, old fashioned. Like you. It fits.”

  “Hey! Watch what you’re saying, Ezra Bryant,” she scolded with a light slap on his arm. His laugh echoed and she found herself grinning.