The story about my family was complicated. I didn't like going into it, not even with my sister. Not even she fully understood where I was coming from, or at least she hadn't for a while now. 

Forgive and forget, right? Or was it forgive but never forget? 

Either way, facing my father was always a challenge. He hardly remembered what he had done and I didn't find it in me to let it go. 

Anger, blame... those were the things I knew. Whether they were directed at myself or my father, the sensation was too familiar. It almost grew comfortable. 

I knew that if I drove myself to the house, I'd never make it there. I'd take a detour and end up getting drunk or drive somewhere out of the town instead. If I did make it to my father's home, I'd never get out of the car. 

The solution was Montana picking me up, instead. According to the scowl on her face, I was yet to master hiding the rage that was slowly spreading through my bloodstream. 

"Can we just get this over with?" I seethed, staring straight ahead. 

I felt Montana's eyes on me but I refused to look. I already knew she had that goddamn patronizing expression. 

"Not until you calm down," she replied. 

The '99 red Honda remained parked in front of my apartment complex, the engine dead. 

"I'm fucking calm," I objected. 

"Yeah? Then what's that?" she asked.

I turned my head to look at her, confused by what she meant. Her gaze was fixated on my white knuckles from how hard I was gripping the hem of my leather jacket. 

"You don't exactly have anger issues, Zach. If this is too much for you, we can cancel. Dad will understand." 

I fucking hated how softly she spoke to me. It made my anger seem so irrational and I suddenly felt like a five-year-old child, sulking after not getting a toy. 

Huffing, I reached for the seatbelt and fastened it. If I was anything, I was stubborn. Even more stubborn than her. 

It didn't occur to me that my own stubbornness was what made her win in that case. She fucking tricked me. 

My gaze shot in her direction again as Montana started the car. 

"You little..." I cursed and trailed off. 

Her brown eyes batted innocently and rerouted to the road ahead. The car jerked to an almost stop as some asshole cut us off. Frankly, I was in the right mood to break some noses. 

"Zachy, no," Montana said. She knew me all too well for my liking. She had been my sister for far too long. 

I only huffed in response and continued sulking for the next fifteen minutes. She knew I sometimes needed my silence and I was already in a battle with myself — I didn't to be in one with her either. 

I haven't seen my father in three years. The last thing I said to him wasn't the nicest and if I was completely truthful, my opinion still hasn't changed. I wasn't doing this for myself. I was doing this for my little sister. She deserved to have a family — what was left of it, anyway. 

Montana drove under the speed limit. I figured she was trying to give me more time to come to my senses. 

It wasn't likely that it would happen anytime soon but... One of us had to be the optimist. 

"It'll be good for both of you," Montana said, finally breaking the silence I was enjoying. 

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, mumbling under my breath. 

"Well, you're an asshole too," my sister said in a mocking tone as if I was mumbling actual words. 

A glare was shot in her direction and all she offered in return was a big, innocent smile. She knew damn well I wasn't able to stay pissed at her when she gave me that same smile as she used to after a thunderstorm. I could hear her fluffy socks being dragged across the hallway before she popped up by my bed, asking if she could sleep with me. She couldn't be more than two at the time. And I vowed back then, I would protect her — always. 

I had to keep reminding myself that I was doing this for her. 

The vehicle finally came to a stop in front of the familiar house I grew up in. The light peach facade was slightly worn out as well as the white paint on the porch fence. 

The next house was Via's. 

I looked up at her bedroom window. So many times I watched her dance around until she finally heard the pebbles I was tossing at the glass to catch her attention. But now it was all empty. No one stayed long in that house after her family moved out. 

We spent so many days, weeks, chasing each other in our backyards. Via often insisted on me carrying her on my back while running after someone else. 

Things were so simple back then. We were just kids. We had no idea what kind of pain life could bring. And now — we would never be those kids again. 

Montana's hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked away from the house. 

"Are you ready?" she asked, her slim eyebrows elevating. 

I was reluctant in my answer. "Not really. But we're already here." 

An apologetic smile curved the corners of her lips before she opened the car door and exited. I followed close behind but lingered between the door and the vehicle — my eyes glued to the front door. 

I could hear moving inside as my father's wheelchair rolled over the old flooring. 

With some hesitation in my step, I followed Montana towards the entrance. She knocked twice before twisting the doorknob. 

"Dad? Look who I found," she called out and I inwardly groaned. 

The squeaking grew louder before our father's voice reached us. "Who?" 

Finally, his balding head peered around the corner as he pushed his wheelchair closer. He wasn't even in his fifties yet but the alcohol and the illness took their toll on him. 

His pale-brown eyes widened at the sight of me and I felt so fucking out of place. I didn't know this man anymore. 

"Zachary," he said, making it sound as if I just returned from a ten-year war. 

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. "Hi," I mumbled. 

Evan's gaze flickered between his two children and if I didn't find the idea absolutely insane, I could've sworn I detected tears behind his eyes. 

"Son," he breathed as he came closer, his hand reached out for mine. 

I looked at my sister, my eyebrows slightly pushed together. She gave me a small smile and a single nod of the head. 

A part of me wanted to object to him calling me his son but now wasn't the time. Instead, my own hand moved out of my pocket and my fingers wrapped around his. 

He gave me a weak squeeze which only had me frown more. He didn't look so well, I had to admit. 

"I am so glad to see you," Evan continued, staring at me in what seemed to be disbelief. 

Granted, it has been a while. But I wasn't sure I could return the sentiment. 

"Come, come," he beckoned us as he let go of my head and moved further into the house. 

I let Montana walk in front of me as we headed towards the living room area. I noticed my father's worn-out leather couch was replaced by an empty space for his wheelchair. Everything else looked the same but with an additional layer of dust. 

"How are you doing, daddy?" Montana asked as she leaned down to peck Evan's cheek. 

"I'm alright, peanut. The damn TV isn't working properly, though," he groaned in reply. 

We took a seat on the flowery-patterned couch my mom picked out just before I left for college. She was so excited about a damn fucking couch. How ridiculous. But now, it made me smile how happy she was about this thing. 

I was glad he kept parts of her after she died. It was the least he could do. But at the same time, I couldn't help but silently wait for her to come out of the kitchen with her cup of coffee and a book. 

That was what killed me, that was what fueled my hatred towards my father — the fact that I let myself forget that she was gone, sometimes. And then I remembered he took her. 

"What about you, Zach? How have you been all this time?" Evan asked. 

It was so much harder to stay mad when he sounded so genuinely concerned. 

I scoffed. "Been better." 

Montana's elbow hit my ribs and had me shift on the couch. I looked at her and she gave me a clear 'what the fuck' face in return. 

I took a deep breath as I rested my forearms on my knees and clasped my fingers together. "I quit college, I work as a mechanic downtown. With Rafe," I said in an attempt to correct my previously rude answer. 

"You fix things?" Evan asked, raising his eyebrows. 

I nodded. 

A chuckle escaped his lips. "You always broke more than you fixed, how does that work?" he asked, lighthearted but it hit a different nerve when it came to me. 

I gritted my teeth and moved my gaze to the ground. 

Montana took a deep breath. "How about we get started on that lunch, daddy?" she offered. 

I didn't know what my father replied, I didn't care to listen or look. All I knew was that half a minute later, they were both already in the kitchen. 

There was only one thing, one person that could really calm me down in these situations and she wasn't anywhere near. 

It was so selfish of me to want her here just because I needed her at that moment but I couldn't help it. The fact that she looked at me — again, and had no idea who I was — again, only made things worse. 

I got up from the couch and walked in the opposite direction of the kitchen, heading towards the stairs. The fence was now equipped with a transportation device that allowed my father to move between floors of the house. 

Without me even being fully aware, my feet carried me in the direction of my old bedroom. 

I pushed the door open and walked inside. The desk was still a mess, covered by layers of paper I, Via, Maya, and Montana used to draw on. I found them before I left for college and wanted to come back for them but never really managed to. 

The bed was pushed underneath the window, covered by 'edgy' stickers and my bad handwriting. 

I was glad my parents chose not to sell the house for the year and a half that we moved away years ago. There were too many memories between these walls, even if they weren't all happy. 

A sigh left my lips as I took a seat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone. Absentmindedly, my fingers guided me into the gallery and I opened the last photo I had taken of my sunshine. 

Via's long blonde hair glowed under the sun, her usual wide smile on her face and those green eyes staring at me with something that could only be described as love. 

God, I loved her. But I missed her even more. 

"Reminiscing?" Montana queried. 

I didn't know when she made her way to my room but the sound of her voice startled me.

Wide eyes shot in her direction and I needed a second to compose myself. 

"A little bit," I replied shortly. 

Apparently, this was an invitation for her to come inside my room. 

"I don't get it, Zach," she said as she sat down next to me. 

I was clearly still in a mood and I assumed this conversation wouldn't make me feel much better. 

"Get what?" I asked, nevertheless. 

"You're so full of second chances. Why can't you spare one for dad?" 

I understood that she wanted to keep the family together, I did. I really did. But was there anything worth salvaging? 

"He killed our mom, Mon..." I whispered, slowly bringing my gaze to her. 

"Yes. And it's a horrible, horrible thing what happened," Montana replied, her frail fingers wrapping around my forearm. "But this isn't going to bring her back. It's not going to bring anyone back." 

Deep down, I knew she had a point. It felt like a never-ending war and now, I was losing. 

"Just come help us make lunch, okay?" she softly begged and wrapped her arms around my neck for a quick, tight hug. 

I rubbed my palm over her back in return before she got up again. 

"Since when are you such a grown-up?" I asked with a playful frown. 

"Since you refuse to be one," Montana retaliated and stuck her tongue at me. 

I rolled my eyes and followed her back downstairs. 

Evan was sitting next to the dining table, newspaper in his hands. He glanced over, through the top half of his glasses. 

"Where have you disappeared to?" he asked me. 

My shoulders rolled into a shrug. "Just went to check out my old room." 

The kitchen already smelled of baked potatoes and chicken as I approached the stove. I looked inside the oven and rose my eyebrows. 

"Wait, is this...?" 

Montana smiled. "Mom's famous chicken, yes," she replied before I could finish my question. 

Mom would've loved to be here, I knew it. I sometimes wondered if she was lonely, wherever she was. 

I almost smiled at that but I got interrupted by my father clearing his throat. 

"After lunch..." Evan began, his eyes on me. "Think you could spare a few minutes for your old man? I think there's much we need to discuss." 

Was I capable of a grown-up conversation that day? Somehow, I doubted it. And somehow, I had a feeling Montana planned this more than she led on. 

I took a deep breath as I straightened up. "Sure, I guess." 

Half of my father's mouth curved into a lopsided smile, his cheek dented with a dimple that I inherited. 

Montana looked almost frightened between us but sighed eventually and turned back to the food. I guessed, she thought the hard part was over. And frankly, so did I. But then I saw something, I didn't think I ever would see again. 

Nonchalantly so, my father pushed his wheelchair towards the fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of beer. 

I swore, the entire world slowed down for me. 

"You're still fucking drinking?!" I bellowed and all I heard next was Montana dropping a plate on the ground. 

Much like the newfound ounce of faith in my father, the plate shattered within a second.