Page 1 of Ony If It’s You

Chapter One

J avyous “JV” Goldsmith

“You packed for the trip we’re set to take in the next two days?” My uncle Pres, who was also my trainer, asked when he entered the gym.

TKO was my baby. I’d opened it on my eighteenth birthday and hadn’t looked back.

I used to be in the streets heavy with my cousin, Dominique, which was how I’d gotten the bread to open my spot, but as soon as my shit was open for business, I got out the game.

That street shit was my cousin’s thing. I loved the feeling of being in the ring. That was all me.

“Naw.” Grabbing a towel from my duffle bag, I wiped down my face to catch the sweat that was pouring due to my extensive workout.

“Naw? Why not? We leave first thing Friday morning, JV. What are you waiting on? We have less than forty-eight hours.”

“I’m just tired of going to them bullshit ass fights. I’m ready to get back in the ring myself,” I griped.

It had been three months since my up and coming career had gone down in flames.

I was in Vegas fighting when shit had taken a turn for the worse.

My pops was in my corner—I wasn't sure why considering that he was my promoter—and because of that we got into an argument between rounds.

I was so pissed about the argument that I took it out on my opponent, damn near beating him to death, putting him in a coma.

Within the next hour I was painted out to be a monster and mothafuckas started cancelling events left and right.

“It works in your favor to still be seen on the scene, man. Plus, Gambrell is the main event that night. It will be a good look for you to support him, especially after almost killing the man, Javyous.”

“Yeah, aight.”

Tossing the towel back in my bag, I grabbed my t-shirt and snatched it over my head before zipping my bag and tossing it over my shoulder. I’d been in a funk since I was seemingly kicked out of the boxing world and being around people had become one of my least favorite things to do.

Lies. I just didn’t want to be around Preston because he was always tryna make a nigga see the brighter side of things.

My uncle was the ultimate optimist. He always looked at the glass half full. I both loved and hated that about him. I was pissed with how things had turned out while he remained composed, claiming to know that things were going to work out.

“Nephew.” I felt his hand land on my shoulder as I headed for the back entry where I parked my car. If he was here that meant that we were opening up for people to come in and train and I wanted to be long gone by then.

“Yeah, Unc?”

“You trust me?”

I nodded and tugged at the strap to my bag before answering. “More than anybody in this world.”

“Don’t let your father or Dominique hear that,” he joked and I chuckled.

Dominique would whine, only because he was a spoiled brat, but my pops would probably stroke out.

He was in some kind of secret competition with my uncle for whatever reason.

I typically tried to stay out of it, but the shit got annoying sometimes because no matter what Pres did, my pops was going to try to one up him which was how my dad had become my promoter.

He found out that I was going to let my uncle train me and just had to do something to be involved, especially when my name started to ring bells. I moved up quickly in the boxing industry because ’til the day that my career was put on hold, I’d never been defeated.

“Listen, I know this isn’t how you pictured things being for you, but I got you. Shit is going to turn around. You believe me, right?”

Sighing, I nodded again. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay then, go home and pack.” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “And don’t forget that Friday we meet with the image consultant.”

Tossing my head back, I groaned. Pres had been talking shit about how a nigga was living and the portrait that I painted of myself. He claimed that it needed to be cleaned up so that I could make a comeback.

Typically, I wouldn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of me, but these days people looked at me like they were terrified.

They also put every fucking thing that I did in the media and twisted the shit up to make a story.

As bad as I wanted to blank, I couldn’t.

As bad as I wanted to say fuck it, I hadn’t.

Boxing was my life and I had to get back to it ASAP.

“And a nutritionist.”

“A nutritionist?” I frowned. “For what? I eat good.”

“You want to be in middleweight forever, JV?”

“Naw, I don’t, but?—”

“But nothing, Javyous, this is what you have to do. You’ve beaten everyone in the division that you were in, you have to gain fifteen pounds to move up, and this nutritionist will tell us how you can do that quickly.

I’m going to get you back in the ring, but with some new and more worthy competition. ”

“Aight, aight, I know.” I nodded. “I know you got me.”

“Always.” He smiled and dapped me up before pulling me into a hug. “Where you headed?”

“Pops’. He said Tandy cooked and he wanted to run something by me.”

“I see.” He eyed me skeptically. “I won’t hold you, but nephew, if he’s trying to make you fight someone? Don’t accept it without me being there. Jerry only—just don’t agree to it without me, okay?”

“I got you, Unc,” I said before dapping him up one more time then heading out to my car.

Tossing my duffle into passenger seat, I started my car and pulled away going in the direction of my pops’ crib in Crescent Manor.

Over the last few years that I’d been fighting he’d made some decent money, but for whatever reason he’d never moved.

His reasoning was he didn’t want to ever forget where he came from.

I thought it was some bullshit, but I knew it was a shot at my uncle because when Pres got some bread, he’d moved to Crescent Pointe.

I had too though. There wasn’t shit in the hood for me other than trouble.

Dominique was always into some shit and because he was my nigga, I was always there too.

I couldn’t afford that when I’d started to move up the importance scale.

He didn’t take it to heart though because he fully supported my career.

He also knew that if he needed me or if he was ever in trouble, I would be there, ten toes down.

TKO was in the middle of the two neighborhoods, so it didn’t take me long to get to my pops’ crib.

Throwing my car in park, I killed the engine and climbed out.

The front door was wide open which wasn’t a surprise considering that Tandy was probably selling plates since she was cooking, so I pulled the storm door open and entered.

There were niggas at the dining room table playing cards when I entered. I tossed them a head nod and went into the kitchen where I found my father surrounded by his women minus Tandy who was standing by the stove.

“My favorite son!” my father bellowed and grinned. He was clearly drunk.

I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t.

“I’m your only son.” I laughed and dapped him up. “What’s good, ladies?”

Both Jessica and Rhonda were on each side of him cleaning his nails, while Ms. Phyllis was seated on a stool giving him a pedicure. Since I could remember the four of these women had stayed with us and helped take care of me.

Ms. Phyllis was the oldest of the four of them, and the one that reminded me most of a mother, so I treated her with more respect. The other three were straight, bops for sure, but straight. I’d hit all three of them before too, so treating them like anything more than my pops’ women was a no go.

My mother had died while giving birth to me, so I’d never met her. My pops never talked about her and he didn’t have any pictures of her either. All he ever offered me was that she was his bottom bitch but died on him.

Coldblooded.

“You hungry, JV?” Tandy asked.

“Yeah.” I briefly looked her way. “Fix my shit to go though.”

“I got you.” She nodded and took a pull from her cigarette.

I couldn’t help the disgust displayed on my face. I hated a female that smoked anything. It was unladylike and unattractive as hell. I almost told her not to worry about making me food, but she’d fried fish and that shit smelled good as hell.

“Where is Zoey and Kecia?” my pops asked, referring to the two women that I dealt with.

Because of what I saw growing up I followed down the same path as my father when it came to women. The only difference was I had no desire to be with either of them exclusively, together or separate.

Since I could remember, my father had instilled in me that women were a distraction because they were too emotional.

We needed them because they were valuable assets, just not valuable enough to deter me from being a successful boxer.

I couldn’t afford to be in the ring and worried about my woman having an attitude and shit.

My mind needed to be on the fight and the bread that I was collecting after.

“Probably at the crib.”

“And you need to take a plate from my house? What are they at home doing?”

“I don’t know because I’m not up their asses all day. I was training before coming here.”

He thought because they were women they were supposed to cook, clean, and be at my beck and call all day.

For the most part, they were, but I didn’t clock their moves when they weren’t.

All four of his women were running around all day doing something that was beneficial for him that nine times out of ten he could do on his own, but I didn’t care for that.

I just wanted mine to be available when I needed them.

“Just make sure that your home is in order.”

“My crib is good, Pops. Why you needed me to come over here?”

“My partner down in Atlanta reached to me.”

“Okay…” I frowned waiting for him to tell me what that had to do with me.

“You ready to get back in the ring?”

“You know I am, but Pres said?—”

“Fuck Pres!” he barked, cutting me off. “I’m your father and promoter.”

“And he’s my fuckin’ trainer, Pop. I’m not going behind his back and getting myself involved in whatever bullshit plan you’ve thrown together. Shit is hot enough for me right now.”

“You don’t trust me?”

I wanted to shout hell naw, but for the sake of sparing his feelings I lied.

“I do.”

“Okay then, this will be good for you. The opponent is easy too so it’s easy money.”

Tandy was done making my plate, so she bagged it up and handed it to me. Reaching into my pocket, I fished my keys out because I was about to bounce.

“You telling me that the opponent is easy lets me know this is some bullshit. I don’t need shit handed to me, I love a challenge, you know that. Hit Pres up, if he agrees I’ll fight, if not… well, you know how that goes.”

Reaching over, I tapped Ms. Phyllis’s cheek and smirked before turning to leave. I wasn’t going to jeopardize my career any further than I already had on account of my father nor was I going to be a part of the pissing match between him and my uncle.

“JV!” he shouted behind me. “Javyous!”

He continued to call after me even when I was out the door, but I kept going.

Since shit went down at my fight, I’d been keeping my distance only coming around him when I absolutely had to because he never saw the error in his ways.

That was what I hated about him the most. Had it not been for Ms. Phyllis, I probably would have been just like him.

She always took the time to talk to me, explain shit to me, try to make sense out of the irrational shit that my pops did.

I could tell that she was disappointed when she’d learned that I was entertaining multiple women just like my pops.

She didn’t even try to hide the disgust when I brought them to the crib nor did she attempt to get to know either of them.

I felt a little bad because I didn’t like to disappoint her, but it was what it was.

Kecia and Zoey fit into my lifestyle and understood me because I didn’t have the time to be emotionally attached to anyone.

Pushing the thoughts of my father and Ms. Phyllis to the back of my mind and putting my car in reverse, I pulled out and headed in the direction of my home.