Without You: Storyteller Cosmetics, #5

By Magus Tor

'Can I truly love someone without you?' 

Mourning her dead husband, Laura can barely leave her apartment, let alone meet someone new. Not that she'd want to. That is until Bryan Shepherd enters her life. Charming and handsome, Bryan could be the perfect guy. But can Laura really let him be perfect? Losing someone is hard, but gaining someone can be just as tough. When happiness is there for the taking, can Laura bring herself to reach out for it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beyond His Words
• Release date: May 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533789341

Magus Tor

Magus Tor is a dreamer who enjoys dreaming varied dreams of being a doctor, a lawyer, a police officer and a teacher but never in the wildest dream to become a writer. Since starting to write in 2007, Magus continues to explore creating worlds in his imaginative mild. Although he wishes to specialize in writing fantasy but his mind twisted his will and he ended up writing more Science Fiction than Fantasy. So far, his only fantasy novella is D-Nine: Protectors of the Crown.

Book preview

Without You

Chapter One

The morning was calm and cool, the light still grey and a soft ocean breeze blowing. Laura knelt on the grass, arranging the flowers she'd brought and ignoring the wet dew on her knees. Carefully throwing out the flower water from the day before, she refilled the vase from a water bottle and added in the new blooms. There, that should be good , she thought. Paul would like these; yellow and red were his favourite colours. As she worked, she chattered to him, just as she'd used to do when making breakfast—telling him about her life, her plans for the day, everything she could think of to take away the cold silence of the cemetery.

I'm going to have to stop off at the store on the way home today, I think, she said. Running out of milk again. How do we get through so much milk?

She’d used the word we without thinking, like she always did. It was hard to remember that he was gone sometimes, even when she was sitting right here next to his grave. Her watch beeped. It was time to go; she couldn't be late. Standing up, she took a moment to bow her head and say a quick prayer. Before she left, she ran her fingers over his name, etched into the stone, and the date, a bare two years ago. Had it really been so long? A quiet tear slid down her cheek. It seemed like no time at all had passed, but then, it seemed like an eternity as well.

She took a deep breath. See you tomorrow, she said, gently patting the stone before turning.

Her heels dug into the soft ground until she reached the stony path. The cemetery was a wide, open space, bright green with sprinklers dotted around in the summer. But it was autumn now, the staring hot Miami sun kinder and milder, and she pulled her cardigan more tightly around herself as she hurried to her car. She felt bad about leaving him, always did; even when he'd been alive she'd never wanted to be away from him. Now, though, leaving him to hours of boredom lying there, she felt even worse. Paul had hated being bored, hated not being constantly challenged. She smiled when she thought of how he'd run his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated, making it spike up messily.

She'd be back the next day, like she was every day, the early morning visits part of her routine now. She hadn't missed a day in two years, not even when she was half dead from the flu. She just couldn't bring herself to miss that first time, to let go and give herself a day off. If she missed one day, then she might miss another, and another, and then... Well, then she'd be a changed person, wouldn't she? And that wasn’t what she wanted, not at all.

Her car was standing alone in the parking lot; no one else came here at this time of day, and she unlocked it and slid into the driver's seat. She had to remember to start bringing running shoes out here with her now that the weather was getting a little worse. Her work shoes weren't great on damp grass. Grabbing a clip from the glove box, she twisted up her long black hair into a knot. She always left it loose when she visited Paul; he'd preferred it that way. She checked her makeup in the rear view mirror, saw that the errant tear had done no damage to her eyeliner, and started the engine. She really had to get to work.

Two years, she thought as she pulled out of the lot. Two whole years. They'd only been married for three months before that. It had been an early summer wedding, full of flowers and happiness, and she'd never thought she could feel so full of love, a perfect day with her soul mate. She'd drunk one glass too many of champagne and had got hiccups in their honeymoon suite, and Paul had laughed and shown her how to drink water from the wrong side of a glass to get rid of them. She'd liked that about him, how he always had a solution to every problem. But then when the big problem had come, he hadn't been there to give her a solution.

She joined the highway that would take her back into the city. Two years ago he'd been driving home from work on the motorcycle that she hated, that he'd promised to sell, that he'd put up for sale the weekend before and just hadn't sold yet. Of course, she'd not been there; she'd been waiting at home, a chicken casserole already in the oven. She'd been getting irritated at his lateness, knowing he didn't always keep good track of time, and had had to turn down the oven to stop dinner from getting burnt.

When the knock at the front door came, she'd cursed, wondering who the hell would be calling at this time in the evening, who'd be rude enough to drop by without calling first. But when she'd opened the door and seen the two police officers there, she'd immediately known what had happened, though they hadn't said a word.

They'd said their piece. A truck changing lanes, the motorcycle in its blind spot, an accident—that was all. And dully she'd offered them some chicken casserole. No point in its going to waste. They'd thanked her, the tall, dark one putting a hand on her shoulder that felt heavy and warm, and then offered to call someone to come sit with her.

Sure there's no one we can get for you? the tall officer had asked kindly.

No, no, I'll be fine, she'd said.

But in truth, there was nobody. She had nobody. Paul had been her world, her family. Her parents were both gone, and she had no siblings. She and Paul had been in Miami only a few months, and she hadn't even found a job yet. She knew no one but Paul. The officer had seemed to understand and had sat with her in the back of the patrol car, holding her hand as they drove to the hospital. She hadn't cried yet, and found herself wondering why they'd taken him to the hospital at all when from what the police said he'd died instantly.

She didn't cry until she saw his face. His body was hidden under a white sheet, broken and bloody. But his face had been protected by his helmet and was perfect, his long eyelashes brushing his cheekbones, looking like he was merely asleep. Then she cried, and it seemed like she'd cried for the next two months, crying and sleeping and not doing much else.

A stomach bug had saved her. She'd been sick for a couple of days, unable to keep anything down, already thin and shaking from grieving, and had eventually passed out in the hallway of the apartment building. A neighbour had called the paramedics, and the next thing Laura knew she was sitting in a hospital bed, a young doctor talking to her about antidepressants and therapy.

They'd helped, a little, but still, they'd helped. It had been her therapist's idea that she look for work, that she get out of the house and meet some people. Well, her therapist and her bank manager. Paul had been young, they'd been married such a short time, and they hadn't planned financially for the future. Neither had thought that either of them would go so soon. So there was no life insurance, just a small accident settlement, and the mortgage on the apartment was overdue, and suddenly Laura realised she couldn't lose the apartment, couldn't lose the place they had lived in together, the place where she remembered him. So she'd agreed to go to work.

There were more cars around now, and the pale pastel outskirts of the city were sliding by. Believe it or not, she loved Miami, despite all that had happened here. Paul had loved it too; it had been his first choice of cities to live in. And since neither of them had much family, they were free to go where they wished. They'd come to Miami for a long Labour Day weekend and loved it ever since, so the choice to come here hadn't been tough.

She slowed as the lights in front of her turned red. The weather was generally good here, and the people seemed nice enough. But most of all, she loved the colours of Miami. From the pastel blues and pinks of the buildings to the deep reds and yellows of the Cuban quarter, she felt at home here. So she'd decided to stay, to make a life here. And decided Paul would stay here too. Now that he was here, she could never leave, of course, but it wasn't something that worried her. Not now that she felt safe and at home here.

The road was getting even busier as she got closer to the beach; even at this time of year, there were holiday makers and tourists. Not that she minded. That was one of the things she liked about Miami: that it was always busy, there were always people around. She was a loner at heart, didn't really have friends, didn't go out much. But that didn't mean she didn't enjoy the happy chatter of crowds as she walked around the city. It somehow made her feel less alone.

Traffic had slowed to a crawl, and it took her a solid ten minutes to drive the final two blocks to work. I really should have left the cemetery earlier, she thought. She'd do better tomorrow, avoid the worst of the traffic and get to work early. Especially since it looked like today she was going to be a few minutes late.

Lateness was one of the few things she really hated. The Storyteller Cosmetics building came into view, tall and white, towering over the beachside. Storyteller had become her refuge, and though she knew few people there well, she liked her job in HR and enjoyed being at work. So she didn't want the company to feel she was letting them down by not being on time. Finally she pulled into the parking lot, found a space, and parked.

Time to get some work done, she thought. Though she rarely felt happy inside, she painted on a smile to go to work, not wanting to get a reputation for having a bad attitude. So it was with a bright red lipsticked smile that she got out of her car and started walking towards the front doors.

The foyer was bright and airy, dominated by the glass staircase that ascended up through the middle of the atrium. Her heels clicked on the floor, and she smiled pleasantly at a couple of colleagues as she headed towards the elevator.

Good morning, Mrs. Ducan. The receptionist smiled as she walked by.

Laura smiled back and continued on her way. She insisted on being called her married name, though as a widow it might have been less painful to go back to her maiden name. She couldn't do that to Paul, though; it would feel like a betrayal. So she went through every day being greeted by his name and felt a little pang of pain every time someone spoke with her.

The elevator was empty, most people preferring to take the stairs, but Laura, thin as a rake, had never thought about physical exercise as something she really had to do. So she took the elevator and went up to the fourth floor, turning right as she got out towards the human resources department. It was odd that she spent all day dealing with people, talking to people, calling them, solving problems, when in reality she didn't feel close to anyone. On weekends she regularly went two days without saying a word to anyone. But it worked for her; she enjoyed what she did and found it easy to maintain a professional distance, something that was important in her position.

Her office door was closed and locked, so she grabbed her keys from her shoulder bag and opened up before turning back to the team's secretary and smiling.

Do you have this week's resumes? she asked politely.

Morgan, the bubbly blonde secretary, nodded and handed over a large pile of paperwork, which Laura took with a grimace. So many of them, it was going to be a busy day. Storyteller got a lot of resumes, even when they weren't actually advertising vacancies. It had become a trendy place to work with a reputation for treating its employees well. That meant that once a week Laura had to go through all the CVs that had arrived and decide whether to hire someone, put them on file for later, or politely decline. Not her favourite part of the job, but at least she got to vet who came in and out of the company.

She put her bag down, the papers on her desk, and then settled into her desk chair, ready to get on with things. This was going to take her all day.

HER STOMACH RUMBLED. Was it really lunchtime already? She checked her watch and found that it was after noon. There was still a staggeringly high pile of resumes on her desk; looked like she was eating at work today, rather than her normal quiet picnic on the beach. She called through to Morgan and asked her to have a sandwich from the deli sent in, then went back to reading.

She was halfway through a delicious Cuban sandwich when she saw a resume so surprising that she almost trashed it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. She went back to the beginning and read it again, frowning a little. Bryan Shepherd, MIT graduate, specialist in programming and application development. Not bad. Very highly qualified, and with a solid few awards to his name as well. Now what would a guy like that want to apply for a job at Storyteller for? she wondered. Surely he had his pick of far more prestigious jobs and companies too, for that matter.

Thoughtfully she read through the resume again. In truth, someone like Mr. Shepherd could be very useful at Storyteller. His skills were exactly what the IT department had been asking for for months now, pleading that a tech presence, with mobile apps as well, was the only way forward and would help them save on the advertising budget. But...Mr. Shepherd looked a bit too good