Page 1 of Ony If It's You
Chapter One
Javyous “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 thatwe 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 ofsecret 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 ushow you can do that quickly. I’m going to get you back in the ring, but with some new and more worthy competition.”
