I huff out a sigh and compromise by sitting on the arm opposite him. “I haven’t talked to him since the trial. It’s been five years and ten months, and I’m just finally starting to say my last name in public without people giving me a wide berth.” Mostly. Some families still cross the street to avoid my mom in town. How they could hold her responsible for his mistakes this many years later is beyond my comprehension. People are assholes.

“I realize this is difficult—”

“Actually, you don’t. Not really.”

Brian sets his jaw. “Of course. I wasn’t there, during … but after…”

“No. Stop. You wouldn’t be here, picking up her pieces, if you had been. So that’s a stupid point to make. If he hadn’t fucked up, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

To his credit, Brian doesn’t flinch at my cussing but rather ignores it with a patient sigh born out of years of practice. He really is a good guy, and I’m being a dick. “I’m here now, though. I am picking up pieces, Micah. And not only hers. I’ve been here for all of you. I took this on because I love all of you.”

I glare at him. I can’t fault his care and love of my family since my dad went to prison. He took on a whole lot of garbage and has never made us feel like we owed him anything. That’s admirable. Brian’s a good guy, the best, even, except—

“You need to go see your dad. You need to forgive him.”

Except for that. Always that. Over and over that. It’s why I moved out; though clearly not far enough.

“Your mom and I were talking, and she’s going to the hearing. You should go with her.”

I snort humorlessly. “No, thanks.”

“You can’t hold on to this bitterness, Micah. It’s going to eat you up inside and hold you back from enjoying the life God has planned for you.”

My chest squeezes with a pang at his words, but I ignore it. “If it’s all the same, no.”

“Holding on to bitterness only hurts you.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “That’s religious platitudes and bullshit, and my dad was really good at those. Know what else he was good at? Cheating on his wife and stealing from his congregation, and that shit hurt everyone involved.”

“Don’t make your mom go alone,” he pleads quietly.

“Why can’t you go with her?”

“She doesn’t want me there.” I can tell he doesn’t want to admit it. “I don’t blame her,” he says wryly. “It would be pretty horrific to sit next to your current husband and the father of your children while sitting across from your ex-husband and father of your other children.”

“Yeah.” Horrific is an understatement.