2. Major Lloyd
“I’m sure you all are wondering why I called this press conference, so I’ll get right to it. Some of you have been speculating for months, even years, about when I’d hang up the gloves. Well, that time has come. My next fight will be my last fight.”
I looked into the sea of reporters and fans as I spoke, and as soon as the last word left my mouth, everyone began talking at once. I nodded to my manager and one of my best friends, Brax, and that was his cue to allow questions from three reporters.
He stepped in front of the podium and held his hands up. Once the chatter was at a respectable volume, he pointed at someone.
“You, in the green,” Brax said.
“Thank you. Mr. Lloyd, how long have you been contemplating retirement, and what made you finally take the leap?”
“It’s been in the back of my mind for about a year. After my last fight, I wasn’t itching to get back to training like I usually am. That was when I knew it was time.”
“You, over there in the red,” Brax said as he pointed.
“Thank you. Mr. Lloyd, most professional boxing careers last eight to fifteen years. You just reached the eight-year mark, and I don’t doubt that you have a few more good years in you. Do you think you’re selling yourself short, and have you thought about how much money you’re losing?”
“I’ve had a short but extremely successful and lucrative career, so I don’t think I’m selling myself short.
Not only do I want to leave on my terms, but I also want to leave while I still have my wits about me.
I’m not sure if you know this, but being punched in the head repeatedly by some of the strongest men you’ll ever encounter isn’t good for your health. ”
I paused while the crowd enjoyed a good laugh, then continued.
“As far as money goes, I think I’ll be fine.”
“One more question. You, back there in the purple,” Brax said, pointing to someone in the back.
“Thank you. Mr. Lloyd, this question has nothing to do with boxing, but I have to ask. You’re more on the private side, but you don’t hide the fact that you have a five-year-old daughter. Do you plan to get married and have more children after retirement?”
“That question depends on one person, and that person isn’t me. That’s all for now. Thank you all for coming out.”
I turned to leave the podium, and although I was obviously done, they shouted questions at my back.
I made it into the back seat of the car; Brax got in on the other side, and my security guard and other best friend, Jrue, slid into the front passenger seat.
My driver, Bo, an older man in his late sixties, who’d been with me since I’d found it necessary to have a driver, pulled away as soon as the last door closed.
I lived in a six-bedroom mansion in Wadsworth, IL, a far northern suburb of Chicago that was actually closer to Wisconsin. It was also only ten minutes from my hometown, which I liked because I was close to my family.
When I started making real money about six years ago, they let me pay off all their debt, which wasn’t a lot, and buy them a home. Godfrey and Marjorie Lloyd were proud parents but would never let me take care of them.
My father worked as a data analyst, and my mother was a general manager of a large hotel chain. She was what I called a late bloomer because she stayed home with my sister and me for several years.
They had me right out of high school, got married, and my sister, Freya, was born three years later. After a short stint in the army, my father went to college and entered the workforce after graduating.
My mother went back to school part-time when I was about twelve, and she eventually earned a degree in business management. She joined the workforce later than most and absolutely loved her job.
“How do you feel?” Brax asked.
“Good . . . Great, actually.”
“No regrets?” Jrue asked from the front seat.
“No, and I don’t anticipate having any.”
We drove all the way to Chicago for a five-minute press conference, so I settled in for the hour ride home. I unlocked my phone and went to Flikstagram to see what people were saying about me. When I opened the app, I already had hundreds of notifications.
During my boxing career, I’d kept my nose clean, for the most part, so it was rare that the media had anything negative to say about me. On the rare occasions I was seen out and about, stories were concocted about what I might be doing, and they were very creative if I happened to be with a woman.
Most of the things posted about me were boxing-related, and that was how I liked it. There were too many other things going on in the world for the media to waste their time on me, and I was glad they seemed to understand that.
I looked through my notifications, and they were all likes, comments, and reshares of the clips from my press conference. I read some of them and was touched by how disappointed or sad people were about my retiring.
“What’s next?” Brax asked, pulling my attention away from my phone.
I chuckled as I looked up from my phone. This nigga was always ready for what was next and had been asking me since I told him I was retiring.
“I haven’t retired yet. What do you mean, what’s next? I gotta get ready for this fight.”
“You know what I mean. I know you got something up your sleeve. You got too much life ahead of you to spend it doing nothing.”
“True. You know me well. I want to take painting more seriously.”
“Word. Your shit is dope. I think that’s a good move,” Jrue chimed in.
“I guess I’d better dive into the art world and see what kind of opportunities are out there. Like Jrue said, your shit is dope, and being who you are, I’m sure it won’t be hard to make a name for yourself in that field,” Brax offered.
“That’s what I’m hoping. There’s something else I’ve been thinking about that I want to run by y’all.”
“Let’s hear it,” Brax said.
“I want to write my memoir.”
“Memoir? I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” Jrue said.
“Me either,” Brax added.
“Y’all don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“It’s cool, but not something I thought you’d ever do,” Brax replied.
“You’re a private person, and people will eat it up, but what do you know about writing a memoir?” Jrue questioned.
“Not a damn thing. I’d have to hire someone to help guide me at minimum.”
“You know what else you could do . . . A documentary. You can have a crew follow you around and get some footage as you prepare for your final fight,” Brax suggested.
“Hell yeah!” Jrue agreed.
“A documentary? That sounds intrusive as fuck.”
“It probably is. How else would they be able to document you?” Jrue questioned.
“Brax, find out what a documentary would entail.”
“I got you. Do you have someone in mind to help you with the memoir?”
“Yeah. Dynastie.”
The nineties hip-hop music playing softly in the background seemed to come to a screeching halt. Dynastie. Although I thought of her daily, everyone in my circle, including my family, knew discussing her was off-limits.
The only person I ever talked to about her was Bo, and he mostly only listened because he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Dynastie. By the time I’d hired him, Dynastie and I were done.
She was my first and only love. When she left our hometown to pursue her dreams, leaving me here to do the same, I had no doubt we’d reunite. Unfortunately, life happened, and the dynamics of our relationship shifted, but no one could tell me we wouldn’t end up together.
We’d both gone to community college for two years, so when she decided to finish her degree at Onyx City University in Georgia, it threw me for a loop, but I wasn’t the kind of nigga who would discourage their woman from pursuing her dreams.
I expected her to only be gone for two years, but she decided to go to graduate school. I can admit that I felt a way about her being gone for another two years, but I didn’t share my feelings with her, because I wanted her to achieve her goals.
Although we decided before she left for Georgia that we didn’t want a long-distance relationship, we were still committed to each other. Sometimes, our schedules got in the way of our communicating and seeing each other as often as we’d like, but we made it work.
Around the time she finished graduate school, I’d moved up a weight class and was preparing for my first professional match at my new weight. We still talked, but the frequency had started to decline.
Of course, we didn’t miss each other’s milestones, and when we reconnected, it was always fireworks because when we were together, nothing could come between us.
After winning my first professional fight at a higher weight class, I was on a high, and having Dynastie by my side made it even better. Later that night, when I buried my face between her thighs then felt her pussy around my dick, it was the perfect and only way to end my night.
We spent the weekend locked away in my hotel room, neither of us realizing that things between us were about to shift, and not in a good way. She waited until she got back to Onyx City to tell me that she’d been offered a paid internship with a popular sports magazine there.
As always, I was excited for her and encouraged her to take it, but this was something else that was prohibiting us from living in the same city again. Her internship started, and I continued to train.
Our communication grew less frequent and sporadic, and I got lonely.
Women had been throwing themselves at me for years, but I was focused on my goals and only had eyes for Dynastie.
Unfortunately, the longer we lived in separate cities, the weaker my flesh became, and eventually, I gave in to temptation.
When I found out I had a child on the way, I stopped communicating with Dynastie because I wasn’t brave enough to tell her another woman was carrying my child.
In my opinion, not telling her was the same as lying, and I would never lie to her.
It was easier to just stop taking her calls and to ignore her texts.
“Dynastie?” Jrue questioned.
“Dynastie Love?” Brax piggybacked.
“The one and only. It’s time for me to get her back, and this is the perfect way to do it. The only problem is, I don’t think she’ll agree to do it,” I finally said.
“You never know. It doesn’t hurt to reach out,” Brax offered.
“If I write my memoir, she’s the only one I want to co-write. I have no choice but to reach out. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“It’s about time you stop beating yourself up about how you handled everything and get your woman back,” Jrue said.
I didn’t say anything else for the duration of our ride because I was in my head. Now that I’d said it out loud, there was no turning back, unless Dynastie told me to kiss her ass.
That night, sleep evaded me. I tossed and turned for hours, and thoughts of Dynastie filled my head. I should’ve woken up exhausted, but instead, I felt rejuvenated. After taking care of my morning hygiene, I called Brax and Jrue and asked them to come over.
About an hour later, they arrived a few minutes apart. Both were anxious about why I’d summoned them, so I didn’t keep them waiting.
“I thought about our conversation all night, and I’m ready to move forward.”
“Hell yeah!” Jrue shouted.
“Bet. Let’s do it,” Brax said with a smile.
“I want to do both the memoir and the documentary.”
“Word?” Brax questioned with surprise.
“Yeah, and I want them released simultaneously. I want the documentary to be about more than the preparation for my last fight, but my life . . . All of it up until my last fight.”
“That’s a lot more than the initial idea,” Jrue said.
“And it’ll take more time than we have. Ideally, one or both should come out the week before the fight. I’m not sure the best way to capitalize, but I’ll reach out to the marketing team,” Brax responded.
“I don’t think twelve weeks is enough time, but honestly, this ain’t about how much money I can make.
Nobody knows how I got started with boxing.
I want to tell it all, because maybe I can help somebody.
The documentary would follow the same format as the memoir, but I want old pictures, videos, and interviews from the people in my life who helped me get and stay on the right track after my arrest, up until I beat the only man who’s defeated me. ”
“Damn. You’ve really given this some thought,” Jrue commented.
“I barely slept last night. I’ll only do this if Dynastie agrees to do my memoir.”
Brax and Jrue exchanged a look.
“I guess it’s my job to convince her,” Brax said.
“It can’t be me, because I’m sure if I reach out, it won’t end well. Let me know what she says.”