A/N: Hi guys, I've been working late (very late) but I wanted you to have this this morning. That still counts, right?

This came very close to being an all-male chapter.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 45: Machismo

Friday 25th November 2016, 3.53pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens

Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?

Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?

Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?

The day Paul was dreading had finally come; when he stood at the intersection of father and son and appeared to be losing from all directions. Taylor's question rang in his ears like a clanging bell, unmissable and unforgettable. And of all the possible scenarios he'd considered, his son looking at him with betrayal and disappointment wasn't one of them. For the first time there wasn't someone else to fix it, as Joss wasn't taking his calls and if she was; John would probably want to put his two cents in. But the matter at hand was his son, who was waiting for an answer. An answer he didn't have, so he deflected. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"Because…" Taylor blinked. "It's true." You're Brock and he's Hugh. "You want me to make a decision so you don't have to, so it's not on you; it's on me." Like you do with Ma. "And Jeremy wants me to shut up and go along with it and I can't. I'm sick of people using me who don't care."

Paul was stunned by the saddening accusation because they had come so far and this unwanted houseguest was ruining it for them. "Taylor, you know I care about you."

"How?" The long, excruciating silence that followed created room for their relationship to sink into the ground. Then Taylor uttered unfiltered words from his mind; a stream of consciousness. "You let it get this far. He's been staying here for weeks, just waiting to screw me over. And you did nothing. You didn't even try to stop him."

There was nothing Paul could say to get him off the hook, so he tried to displace the blame because he couldn't handle the pressure. "You don't know him."

"I don't have to. I know you." Josiah's eyes stared back at him again, filling him with shame and inadequacy. "And you're supposed to have my back. But I guess it's too much for you to be his son and my dad at the same time." Taylor was too disgusted to stay and could feel his car keys in his pocket calling him to leave, so he did.

"Where are you going?" Paul wasn't used to being walked out on, at least not by his son.

"Reggie's bored but he's too scared of rats to ride the subway. And I'm not signing. I don't care what happens next."

Paul didn't know what to do, or how to make him stay, because all he could think of was having to face his father. And the door shut. And before he knew it, Taylor's car pulled out of the driveway.

4.47pm, Giovanni's Pizza, Brooklyn

Reggie couldn't believe his cousin was over the girl who once had him strung out like Eddie Kane because the more Aleesha ignored him, blocked him and wouldn't let him in her apartment; the stronger his feelings grew for her. He didn't understand why rejection made her so appealing and wasn't mature enough to understand it was the template his parents set for him that would make a therapist and two divorce lawyers rich someday. Funnily enough, Taylor felt unburdened spilling to his cousin over his favourite pizza because they had problems. "I knew it. That motherf…" And there went that 4-syllable M word he was so fond of again. Taylor couldn't argue because it summed up the situation – and his grandfather's actions – quite succinctly. "My dad's got kids." Reggie confessed, not even close to being ready to talk about Aleesha and how she was throwing him off his game.

"How many?" Taylor asked, because it wasn't surprising.

"Three." That he knew of. "Five. Ten. Who knows?" Reggie shrugged his shoulders and ate the last crust.

"Man. You want Meats Amore?" Taylor offered, because although his dad profoundly disappointed him; at least he was around to do it.

Reggie nodded. "Extra mushrooms. No onions." Taylor ordered it through an app instead of flagging down a waiter. "You still with that girl? Zora?"

"Zahra. Yep." Reggie shook his head with disapproval. "What?"

"You love her." Taylor hadn't said it, and didn't know if it was true yet. But he didn't deny it either. Reggie figured since his pop-up grandpa was trying to shake him down for his half of the house, the timing was all wrong for his monologue about getting whipped, acting like a simp and being ghetto married again. So he kept his mouth shut. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Nothing. If I sign it over, he makes off with my money. If I don't sign it over, he does whatever he does when he's mad that everyone's so scared of. So the best thing I can do is nothing."

8.03pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens

Gina naïvely thought Jeremy was in a better mood because she took him out for the day when really it was the hope of coming home over one hundred thousand dollars richer that kept his spirits high. That hope was dashed when Paul sat him down on the sofa to tell him the contract wasn't signed, Taylor wasn't home and he was going back to Norfolk first thing tomorrow because there he wasn't welcome there. That was bad news. News he couldn't accept.

Saturday 26th November, 1.43am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens

"What's that sound?" Gina asked, shaking Paul awake and flicking on the bedside lamp. This time they both the sound of breaking glass from downstairs and Paul did something he thought he would never have to do again in life. His Glock was stored in a shoebox in his closet, clean and ready to be loaded; though he often forgot it was there. This was another thing Gina never knew; she assumed after he left the service the last thing he'd want in his home was a weapon. Another glass broke and he assumed it was a window. "There's a bat under the bed. Stay here."

Paul's first thought from the top of the stairs was where Taylor was, since his car wasn't parked outside. But it gave him relief to know if they were being burgled, at least his son wasn't home. The sounds were coming from the kitchen and there was only one voice, uttering swear words intermittently. "Sons o' bitches." Jeremy grumbled as he threw a plate across the room, producing a sick half-smile as it hit the wall. This was the man he remembered, this was the fear he felt; rational fear, the fear of violence. Paul raised his gun. "Get outta my house."

Jeremy simply laughed and mimicked a baseball player, pitching a wine glass in his son's direction. His reflexes kicked it and it missed him by a wide berth. "You come from me." It wasn't clear if he'd been drinking because the Jeremy he knew was capable of that and much more, perfectly sober. "You ungrateful, whiny, spoilt piece of shit."

"Get outta my house, Jeremy."

"I always knew you were weak, Pauly-Paul. That's why I put you on that goddamn football field in the first place." That wasn't true; his 5th grade teacher thought he had talent, Jeremy only went along with it because his son was chubby and there was a lot of money in the NFL. "You let a teenager work you. What does he know? If he was my kid, I would'a-"

Bang.