Drinks on Me

4

Aimey woke up with a sick feeling. Cold sweat moved down her forehead, and with a shaking hand she brushed it away. Checking her alarm, she panicked as she realized she had overslept. Throwing on her coat, Aimey rushed down the icy steps to open the bar. It wasn't the chill that ripped the air from her lungs. It was Dean. He lay against the door, a little pool of frozen blood coming from his open mouth. His body was still, peaceful, but a look of pain was frozen on his face. Aimey cried out, clutching her chest. This couldn't be real. Only last night they had finally talked, he had opened up, she had gone to bed with the image of his smirk replaying in her mind. This couldn't be happening. The sound of sirens was all Aimey heard before her head hit the ice. 

                                                                                               --.--

The police officers said the cause of death had been blunt force trauma to his head, presumably from the fall. He was buried later that week, at a service Aimey did not attend. It rained that day. The bar stayed closed

                                                                                              --.--  

It had been two months since Dean had passed. Two months of slow foot traffic, of early closes, and a lump in her throat whenever a cab passed. The bill set tacked beside the till, and Aimey couldn't bear to wave it. It had been two months since the last letter

                                                                                               --.--

On the fourth of March, Aimey sat on a bar stool, staring into the empty store in front of her. The place had be empty for weeks, and she was on the verge of being evicted. Hanging her head in her hands, she closed her eyes. She was woken from her half sleep by a voice. It was low, and quiet, but filled the room with an echo. Looking up, she saw a silhouette of someone taller than she had ever seen. He walked slowly up to the counter, sort of swinging his hands in a way that reminded Aimey of a little kid. He had brown hair that went down to his shoulders and shone in the low light, and eyes that reminded her of a golden retriever. She also noticed the darkness under his eyes and the tired scratch of his voice. 

"I'm sam," he stated simply, reaching out to shake her hand. She took it, and felt the calluses on his hand scratch her palms. She shivered. 

"Aimey."

Stepping back, Sam half smiled. 

"Aimey. The letter girl," and a moment later, he walked up to her and enveloped her in an awkward, over the counter hug. His jacket smelled like cinnamon and he was warm. She sighed. 

"You're the one who found my brother. You're the one who helped my brother all those nights...I owe you so much, thank you," he said in a serious tone. Aimey felt a blush rising in her face.

"Your brother was a great man...I'm sorry you lost him."

A heavy silence fell over them.

"I am actually here to pay his tab, if it's still open."

Aimey stumbled back to the counter, and removed the bill from the tack. She paused, the space looked so empty without it, and an ache rose up in her chest. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she walked over to the till, Sam following her. 

"I can wave most of this, it's been a long time..." Aimey said, looking at the large bill in front of her. 

"It's alright," Sam said, pulling some bills out of his wallet and placing them on the tab. He gave the place a once over, pausing on the turntable. 

Aimey walked over to the stool in the corner, Dean's place.

"It's where he always liked to sit, he said he liked the music," She said, picturing him sitting quietly, listening to Elvis and Nat King and humming under his breath, barely audibly. She felt tears in her eyes and saw Sam's begin to well, and figured it was best to stop talking.

"Thank you for taking care of him, Aimey. He always came home and that was because of you, so thank you."

And as soon as he left, the dam broke. She hadn't been able to get him home on that night, and that was on her.