Chapter 4
“The mercenary? What is that? He’s deeming himself the bad boy of the league, but do we really need another one of those? Besides, he’s no Allen Iverson.”
“Blaise let’s be for real. He’s like nothing we’ve ever seen in this league. Yeah, he’s problematic, but we are going to give him his props.”
“Props? For what? He’s mediocre at best and Mercer is not a team player.
How can you play on a team but not look to your team for help?
He’s out there showboating and throwing tantrums, but he’s not the only player with a few skills.
The league won’t even know who he is in a few years. He’ll be washed up and washed out.”
“There you have it. Blaise the judge and the jury. A woman who has never played ball a day in her life.”
“Yet, my balls are still bigger than yours.”
“Don’t listen to her. I’m with Lukely. Her helmet head ass don’t know shit.
Pussasshoe! Come hold the gloves up.” Looking over at Landon, I shook my head.
He was one of the kids I privately mentored as a big brother.
We was sparring at the gym in my house, when I decided to take a break that I was now regretting.
“Watch yo mouth, and what the fuck is a pussasshoe anyway? Who says that?”
“Us niggas in Florida. How yall say it? Where you from again? Idaho?” Laughing, I stood up and threw a quick jab at him that he immediately ducked.
“From Chicago, and if we was at home I would tell you to get yo goofyass over here and swing.”
“You in Miami. So, when in Rome, do as Romans do.”
“Rome these balls.”
“That shit gay. Maybe if you gave her some of your balls, she wouldn’t talk so much shit about you.” Shaking my head, I got in my defensive stance.
“I told you to watch yo mouth.”
“I’m just saying, she don’t know shi-… she don’t know nothing about you. If you let me tell the press what you do for me, and everybody else they would all eat their words.”
“Naw, I’m good.” I didn’t care what the media thought about me because the things I did wasn’t for show.
They had no idea I had Landon’s group home remodeled and staffed with the best. It wasn’t a lot of people that wanted black teenage boys, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t live decently.
I mentored them all, but me and Landon clicked immediately.
He wasn’t trying to be a boxer, but it helped channel his emotions.
I always brought him to my house to spar and hang out to avoid the media getting ahold of it.
He had no desire to go pro, and opportunities like that for black kids in the hood was rare.
So, he probably wouldn’t make it anyway, but he had drive, and I could fuck with that.
Landon could have turned to the streets looking to better his situation.
They would love a hungry lil nigga with nothing to lose, but he chose different.
Even though he was living in a group home, he refused to go in the streets to make it.
“Look, I know how it feels when people look at you and throw a statistic on you. I live that every day, but you can change the narrative. You have the power to do that.” Hearing him talk like this is what made me want to do any and everything for him.
“I don’t want to. Landon, I am everything they say I am. I own that. The problem is they don’t care to look further and see that it’s more to me than that, and I don’t care to show them. I do what I do because it’s what my heart tells me to. Now, can you quit whining and swing.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you off the hook. I know you don’t want the world to know you be getting your ass kicked by a fourteen year old.” Landon pulled back and popped me in my mouth.
“Nigga got one hit all night and wanna talk shit. I’m tired and ready to grab some food. What you want to eat?”
“The big mouth chick on the news.” Throwing my head back, I laughed hard. I wanted to tell his ass me too, but I decided not to feed into his teenage hormones.
“This why don’t nobody wanna adopt yo ass. Yo mouth is disrespectful.” Landon shrugged his shoulders as we headed inside.
“That’s they lost. Grab something quick though, you know curfew in a couple of hours.” Even though I funded his home, we made sure we abided by the rules. We didn’t want the others thinking he was being shown favoritism. I hung out with all of them, but not to this degree.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on Landon.
I drove to the hood to grab some Checkers, and when I pulled into the lot, I saw the lil nigga sitting there spaced out.
I was about to ignore it, but something told me to ask him if he was good.
Landon looked up and he had the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“You good?”
“I’m tired,” he responded, but something in his tone told me to keep him talking.
“Then go home and get some sleep.”
“No. I’m tired. I don’t want to live anymore. I’m tired of being a punching bag. You ever felt like your entire existence was to be someone’s doormat?” I had no idea how to answer that.
“Naw, I can’t say that I have.”
“Of course you haven’t. You can get your food.
I know your rich ass ain’t trying to be caught lacking in a parking lot.
If it ain’t too much trouble, grab me a burger.
” Nodding, I pulled off and did what he asked.
When I came back around, I wrote two numbers on his bag.
One was for one of my teammates. He boxed from time to time, so I knew he could hook him up with a trainer to give him some lessons. The second number was mine.
“Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. You wanna stop being a punching bag, then punch back. The first number is when you’re ready to learn how to throw an accurate punch.
The second number is if you ever feel like you need to vent.
Can’t have you out here ready to die over shit you can change.
” Wiping his tears, he grabbed the bag and stood up.
“Thank you! You may be a menace in the league, but you just saved a life tonight.” He walked off into the night without another word.
That night was three years ago. A year later, I got a call asking was I busy.
He wanted to spar, but not with my teammate I linked him with.
Said he was tired of being a photo op like he was some kind of career advancement.
I don’t know why, but I brought him to my house.
I learned some of his story, and I tried to help him, but he said he didn’t want a handout.
That’s not why he wanted to be around me.
I respected it, so instead, I upgraded his living conditions and became his mentor.
That was my lil nigga, and I was glad God sent me there that night.
Hearing Blaise’s voice brought me out of my thoughts.
“She mean as hell, but her biscuit head ass fine as fuck.” Snatching my phone from Landon, I pushed him towards the door.
“I told you to watch yo mouth. Get in there before I send yo ass back hungry.”
“I’ll eat the fur off yo rug before I go hungry. Now, order a steak from that one spot you be going to. I’m about to shower.” Dialing the number to STK I called in our order. Once I was done, I went back to the video Landon was looking at of Blaise. She was definitely fine as fuck.