BOMAW Vol. 10-12 (64 page)

Crystal was the first to answer, "Yes, we understand."

Mundo gazed into his mother's eyes and simply nodded, but neither were concerned about themselves.

"I'll be right back, let me go check on Mama JoJo." She walked away, leaving the three to stand there as she looked in on the older woman. She was sleeping like a baby, snoring away, obviously sleeping through it all. Satisfied she returned to hear the three in a discussion about Shawn still, Crystal speaking when she re-entered saying, "I can't speak for you two, or tell you how to be when it comes to him. But for me, I can't help but feel, that we're just as responsible for him, as he's made himself responsible for us. Ben, this is all new and strange and different for you, but know this - I will stand by and let no one, hurt my Papah-Shawn, no way - he needs us, just as we need him. Mundo, when you make decisions to do stuff, remember tonight. I'm going to bed." She stated heading out of the kitchen, stopping beside her mother, "Goodnight mama, chill with him for a bit, okay? Let's face it, he belongs to us now. Whether he faces stuff in his past or not, don't matter to us, right? He was given to us for a reason, he belongs to us now, so - we just have to, stand by him, come what may."

Sylvia sighed realizing that, to her children, when it came to Shawn, everything was cut and dry. They were on his side, come what may. She wished that she could feel that way, all the way, come what may. But the fact remained, because of Bart - her husband could be dangerous. It was almost as if he were programmed. She wasn't sure what she would do, or how to handle him down the road, but she knew that he needed help, he needed to see that he could not be police, prosecutor, judge, jury and then executioner. He had to understand, he was not a law unto himself, even if, granted, he was protecting his family when that mode or programming engaged. She said goodnight to her daughter and walked back to where Ben and Mundo were sitting, talking low between them.

"You guys should probably head on up to bed."

"I think, I wanna go and talk to him." Ben stated looking at Sylvia.

"Maybe not tonight Ben, tomorrow." Sylvia asked.

"I won't be able to sleep, if I don't talk to him tonight. I'll be fine. Promise, I won't get him riled."

"You sure you don't want me to go with you?" Mundo asked.

"Naw, I want to talk to him alone, please."

"Remember what I've said Ben." Sylvia added.

"I will. Goodnight." He stood and went to her, hugging her, "Thank you, for everything. For making me feel welcome here with you." He held her shoulders, smiling down at her, "I know now, why he loves you so much, why he loves Mundo and Crystal so much." He turned, smiled at Mundo and headed for the back.

Because the rear door to the workout room was locked, Ben thought he would try the side door off of the sauna room, it paid off, he found it to be unlocked. Closing it carefully, gently behind him, he could hear him. He was lifting weights. Ben knew the sound, vigorous grunting and blowing to force from yourself that extra needed power to complete the lift, sometimes to failure. As he tread carefully towards the room where
his
father worked out, he girded himself for this confrontation, not sure of its outcome. Standing in the doorway behind him, he watched him laying on the bench, doing bench presses, lifting a loaded barbell of weights. Ben couldn't believe it, wondering was he crazy, he was lifting despite the injury to his hand. In fact, he could see that it was bleeding, no doubt from the pressure of holding such weights. He wondered if he'd busted a few of his stitches.

Suddenly, what he saw about to happen, happened - his father had been lifting to failure - he couldn't get the last push up to the bracket, his arms were trembling holding the bar above his chest. Quickly, Ben stepped up behind the bench and grabbed the bar, helping Shawn lift it up and back onto the hooks. Shawn looked up and backward to see his son standing behind him, hands on the bar.

He blew out and sat up on the bench turning sideways, breathing hard, sweating, he carefully flexed his bleeding hand leaning as he was, an elbow to one knee.

"You've probably broken a few stitches." Ben was the first to speak.

"Yeah ... probably." Shawn muttered low.

"Not safe to lift alone, not like that - you need a spotter."

"I would have thrown it off." Shawn supplied.

Ben walked around the bench and sat on the bench of the Bo-flex across from Shawn, "Why didn't you use this one? Safer when you're alone."

Shawn turned his face toward Ben, staring at him. His eyes were intense, penetrating and heated. Not with anger, but something else. They were red, wet, as if he'd been through some deep emotional torment. Ben returned the gaze, focused intensely on his father's eyes, unwilling to break the stare. His gaze was not hostile, but resigned, unwavering. Both sat barely five feet away from the other. Ben's eyes only wavered to his father's hand, as blood from it ran down his arm.

"That's going to need re-stitching."

"I'll tape it closed."

"You should do it now, stop the bleeding. Where is it, I'll get it."

"Behind you in that first aid kit." Shawn nodded in the general direction it could be found in.

Ben turned, stood and saw the black box attached to the wall. He went through it, took out of it what would be needed, peroxide, scissors, the quick stitch tape used on boxers to close an open cut, gauze and a new bandage to place over the injury when done repairing it. He turned, grabbed a chair from across the room and set it before his father. "Mind? I can do this." He offered.

Saying not a word, Shawn lowered his hand towards him to proceed.

With Ben so close, he couldn't help but give him closer inspection as he cut away the wrapped bandage from his hand, cleaned up the streaming blood, found where the stitches tore open. This young man, who now flushed his wound so thoroughly with the peroxide - was his flesh and blood son. Shawn closely examined the shape of his head, the angles of his face, the highs and lows of his features, his brows, his nose, his mouth, the color and texture of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders. Watching him as he dabbed at the injury and added pressure to stop the bleeding. That's when Shawn winced a bit, not much, just enough. "Need to stop the bleeding." Ben explained apologetically for causing him more pain.

Shawn said nothing, listening to his sons voice, he sat reeling from his day. He felt raw, overwhelmed and hammered. There was too much on his mind - too much rushing up on him at once in his life, from the past to the present. Right at that moment, he was facing a young man that he created. That meant something to him. He understood at that moment, that most of his life, he'd wanted something, or someone that was entirely, his. Just his. Come to be, because of
him
. Even when he was a young male, angry, hyped, resentful, had he known that Christine was carrying his son, he would have stuck to her like glue. It didn't matter if she hadn't wanted him, he would have made sure to get his son, no one would have kept him from his son - no one else would have raised his son.

He felt raw and angry.

Right then, he hated that he'd run from home.

He hated that no one told him.

He hated that he hadn't been man enough then, to stay, to deal with his life.

He hated that he missed 22 years that nothing he could do, would bring them back.

He hated, that it seemed to be the story of his life, regret.

Looking at him there, working on his hand, so capable and focused, he could only wonder at who this person was. He had lived all of these years and no one, not one person in his family told him the times that he had called, that he had a son. Yet, they spoke so of wanting him to come home, home - where - at the time, he didn't want to be, because it was all too much, but had he known, that he'd had a son, he would have gone home without hesitation. Now, here was this person, that he didn't even know. Was he good and true, strong and moral, a defender -or-a bully? Was he kind? Was he vindictive? Was he trustworthy, or sly? Was he, a McPherson ... or, was he now, Quincy's son? No matter what he was, it was too late for him to mold his son. His son. And in his mind,
'My son! Mine!'
Had they told him he had a son, maybe, just maybe - had they told him before Jesse was killed, he would have made him come back home with him. Maybe, just maybe, his knowing in time, would have saved even Jesse's life.

His son was done.

He looked at him, to hear him say to him, as if he were a doctor, "Be careful from now on, you don't need to make that worse."

Shawn nodded, quiet. "Fix me a drink." He asked him.

"A - a drink? Now?"

"Yeah, now."

Ben stared at him a moment, "Should we, go maybe, back in the house for that?" He asked hesitantly.

"No, fix it, bring it here." Shawn returned, speaking low.

"What - what would you like?"

"Bring me a beer, a shot of whiskey."

Ben stared at him a moment, then nodded, stood, "I should put this stuff back." He showed the items that he meant from the first aid kit. Shawn nodded, still watching him. Ben placed everything back in the first aid kit and then headed for the door, "I'll - be right back."

Again, watching him, Shawn nodded.

He sat fighting back thought. Thoughts that his wife put before him. She was wrong. She had no business accusing his father of things that she was misunderstanding. Had he stood strong, as his father had taught him to, he wouldn't have missed out on raising his son. Yet, just as Mama JoJo stated, had he stayed put, at home, he would have never met Jesse, but then, once more - maybe, Jesse would have been alive today, because it had been his actions that got him killed. Sometimes, he felt burdened to the extent that the stress was too much to carry. He had so much to be grateful for, a beautiful daughter, a new life, a beautiful wife, even if she was wrong about his father, she meant well, he knew that. He had Mundo, he had Crystal, her two little ones, Isaac and Darren. They all belonged to him now, he was responsible for them and now - it was confirmed that he also had a son. One that Christine denied him. "You weak, lying -
bitch!
" He murmured angrily, low. As he sat there thinking back, something told him that she had known all along. He heard the door to the house close and then the door there, Ben was back with a six pack of beer, a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He set the six pack down before Shawn and pulled the chair before him, holding the bottle of whiskey he asked, "Mind if I join you?"

"You're over eighteen."

"Yeah." Ben sat down, pulled off a beer, popped the tab, passed it to Shawn and did one for himself, "We chasing?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'll go first." Shawn took a long swallow from his beer, then took the shot Ben poured him and threw his head back tossing the fiery liquid down, following it immediately with a few gulps of beer. Ben wasted no time, he immediately followed suit. With the one shot between them, he sat the bottle down. Staring now at Shawn, he held his hand out to him, "Hi, I'm Benjamin Caesar McPherson, your son, nice to meet you."

Shawn looked down at his hand, then up at him, taking a deep breath, he took hold of the hand offered him and greeted in return, "I'm - Shawn Everett McPherson, your father - nice to meet you." And with a strong grip between them they shook hands, the son's grip as powerful as the fathers. Already, they were challenging each other, eyes narrowed so much the same, both not willing to be the first to let go. Finally, Ben was the one who had to retreat, because as he could see, the man before him wasn't going to. Ben loosened his grip and Shawn, let go - grinning.

"Pretty good grip there, but I would have never backed down."

"Even against your father?"

"Always - when its my father."

"That's the only reason I backed down."

Shawn grinned again, already feeling the shot and beer he was drinking.

"Now what?" Ben asked.

"Hell if I know." Shawn shook his head, took another swallow, belched, and looking at Ben, "How long have you known?"

"Since I was really young, people took delight in making me aware, that they were aware, of who my father really was."

"Jake ever mention me being your father?"

"No, he never did."

Shawn nodded, drank some more, "Pour another shot." He directed.

Ben did so, passing the filled glass first to Shawn who took it straight down; Ben followed suit with Shawn's intense eyes on him, when he sat the shot glass down on the floor beside him, he looked up into his father's eyes.

"Sylvia feels that I owe you an apology. That I overstepped myself with you, considering the circumstances - maybe - she's right. She's my voice of reason you see, not that I always listen to her - but I have to consider what she says."

"Is this your way of saying you're sorry? Or, letting me know you're contemplating it?"

Shawn smiled, "I'm contemplating it. You two should have never been in that pool hall without me."

"Well if it helps any, I agree - I shouldn't have gone along with that idea. I just wanted us to have a nice time out - didn't want to rock the boat."