“Happy birthday, Cass,” Rowan said, smiling sadly across the table.

            The empty seat before him didn’t respond.

            Sighing, Rowan picked up his fourth bottle of Budweiser and took another swig. Cassy had always loved Hard Water, with its loud, smoky atmosphere and raucous laughter. Rowan had loved it too, because being there made her happy. But tonight, this hole-in-the-wall only reminded him of the future they would never have.

           Rowan tried to imagine her sitting in the booth, with her long red hair, a shade darker than his own, her freckled ruddy cheeks, her eyes creased as she giggled at some joke. Instead, he only saw the still, pale, and bruised face of the woman she had become, lying cold in the morgue.

           It was a mistake coming here. Rowan squeezed his fist until his fingers ached. Cassy’s face faded, replaced by whispers from the booth behind him. He leaned into the familiar buzz.

             “I’m cutting you off. I know how you get when you drink,” said a deep voice from the adjacent booth.

            “Just one more, then I’m done,” said another male voice with a southern accent. “I just can’t quit thinkin’ ‘bout it.”           

           Rowan shook his head. He knew how that guy felt. It was the same reason he was sitting in this pub right now, drowning his own sorrows.

            “You know I didn’t mean to, right? It was like someone else was doin’ it. I couldn’t stop, Lord knows I tried, but I just…fuck,” continued Southern Drawl.

            “It wasn’t your fault,” Deep Voice said.           

           Wasn’t his fault? Doing what? Rowan put down his beer.