Always and Forever by Soraya Lane

and walked out the door.
    “Matt!”
    His dad called out behind him as he stormed down the corridor, furiously wiping tears from his face. He didn’t stop, didn’t want to see him.
    “Matt!”
    A hand closed over his arm and he turned, angrily shoving his dad’s fingers from his jacket.
    “Don’t touch me,” he growled.
    “I know you’re upset, we all are, but . . . ”
    “Upset? You’re upset? I don’t see any tears!” Matt shouted. “Why the hell aren’t you crying?”
    His father’s face was tired, worn, but it sure as hell didn’t look upset.
    “Matt, you need to calm down.”
    He raked a hand through his hair. “Did you see her in there? Did you see the way they left her? Or was that you? Didn’t you care enough to give her some fucking dignity?”
    Matt knew he was making a scene, would never have spoken like that around his mom, but he couldn’t help it. Anger thrummed through him, made him want to slam his fist into something, anything.
    “I was with her when she passed, Matt. It was very fast. She had an infection that her body just couldn’t fight any longer.”
    “Did you fight hard enough for her? Did you even cry when she died in front of you?”
    Matt wiped more tears away, unable to stop the flood of them as they rained down his cheeks. He hated him. He hated his father for not fighting, for not doing something to save his mom. He hated him for never crying, for always standing there silent and stoic instead of acting like he gave a damn. And he hated the look in his mom’s eyes when she saw the strain between them. Because he’d loved his mom so bad, had no idea how he was even going to live without her. He was seventeen. He needed a mom. He needed his mom.
    “I have some paperwork to fill in,” his dad said, taking a step back. “I’ll meet you at home and then we can talk.”
    Matt turned on his heel and stalked back down the corridor. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to talk to the man he’d slowly started to hate.
    I wish it was you and not her. That’s what he wanted to say to him, only he’d been too chicken-shit to spit the words out.

    Matt clenched the glass hard, stared into the amber liquid before raising the glass and swallowing the entire contents. He’d drunk too much; the straight whiskey no longer stung his throat. It should have numbed his pain, but it hadn’t.
    His phone rang and he pulled it out of his jeans pocket, stared at the screen through blurry eyes. It was Lisa. Lisa, his bubbly, fun wife. Lisa who had always kept him on the straight and narrow. Lisa who had cancer . Lisa who stayed in their room all day and didn’t want to leave their bed. He waited until the ringing stopped and pushed it back into his pocket. He was in no state to talk to her, and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about where he was. He’d tried so hard, but he wasn’t used to being the adult, wasn’t used to being the strong one and having to care for her. Because since he was nineteen, Lisa had had his back, but their roles had been reversed and he was being a pretty shitty husband right now.
    “One more,” he told the bartender, pointing to his glass.
    He watched as it was filled, stared at it awhile. The bar was quiet now, the noise from earlier long gone, replaced with the silence of a few serious drinkers propping up the bar.
    Matt felt hollow, and it was a feeling he recognized well, even after all these years. When his mom had died, there’d been nothing left inside him except pain, no other feeling other than an agony that made it almost impossible to lift his head. And anger. He had been so damn angry he could have exploded.
    He lifted his drink and gulped down the shot, slammed the glass down on the bar and heaved himself up. He was wobbly on his feet, the room spinning.
    “Hand over your keys,” the bartender said. “You can come collect them in the morning but you ain’t driving.”
    Matt shook his head, tried to laugh. “Nah. Then I’d