The Mystery of Jessica Benson by C.K. Laurence Read Free Book Online

Demons two seasons ago as the
Head Coach and unleashed a plan that clearly had not included
Kyle. A pure passer, Kyle had never been a brilliant scrambler.
After years of the game’s brutality, surgical scars railroaded
across his knees and he’d broken more bones than he could
count. The numbers he had put up owing to his amazingly swift
release of the ball promised him a place in the Hall of Fame, just
as his inability to scramble left visions of wheelchairs flying
across his mind.
The Coach gave up third and fifth round picks to draft
high enough to get Utley this season, and made no secret of his
preference for Ty’s style over Sands’. The kid’s youth, speed and
even his wild temper put him on the fast track to first string;
however, Kyle’s ability to read defenses and passion for winning
kept him in the game. His determination would allow him to exit
the same way he had entered, on top.
    Joe Fraga, the team’s physician put a hand on Kyle’s bad
shoulder. Kyle looked up and said, “It’s healing, doc.”
“Good. Good. Keep the ice on. Any other complaints?”
“None that you can help me with,” Kyle answered.
Fraga gave the quarterback a semi-smile, bordering on
leer. “Oh yeah, I heard you and Jessica had some problems last
night.”
“God, word’s out already?”
“Yep. Lot of people got to witness the blow out you and
she had at Utley’s, and they’re all wagging their tongues about it.
You’re better off without her anyway. That broad’s got the
history, you know, and I don’t mean a good one. Way too hot for
her own good. So now she’s out in the cold again. Not for too
long, I’d bet. That broad works fast! Sleep with dogs…uh, no
offense, old fella.” He threw up his arms in mock apology.
Kyle squinted into the sun, attempting to focus on the
doctor’s eyes. “I didn’t know you knew her.”
Fraga took a step back. “Yeah, well, I more or less know
of her. That reputation of hers, you know. Great looking babe,
but tough. A real party girl. Talk was that she’d straightened up
some when she took up with you, but oh well—not the nature of
the animal. Some just can’t be tamed. You know, a rolling stone
gathers no moss.”
The king of cliché , Kyle thought, nodding, rather than
rolling his eyes.
“Heads up, old man,” the doctor continued, “the playoffs are right around the corner and you’ve got to be fit as a
fiddle to keep the team on track.”
“Well, thanks for the encouragement, doc. Your
approval is vital to my performance,” Kyle said, almost tangling
his tongue in his cheek.
“No problem. We’re all behind you, the team’s fearless
leader. You be sure to have Gloria put some extra time in on that
shoulder. Ultrasound, massage. The usual. I also want a couple
of x-rays to be sure it’s healing properly. Let me know if you
need anything for pain.”
Kyle’s head was throbbing and his muscles were coiled
into painful reminders that he was no longer young. The massage
was a relaxing thought though, and Gloria, his favorite trainer,
gave a great one.
He watched as the doctor sauntered toward the locker
room. He wasn’t a handsome man, but in a swarthy way he was
interesting. His dark salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back
straight, frozen on a sculpted base of sharp bones and perpetual
but carefully cultivated five o’clock shadow. He kept himself
trim with a multi-year membership at Gold’s Gym and wore his
Armani suits well. It occurred to Kyle that this was one doctor
who didn’t deal with HMOs.
Kyle walked over to the water table, wishing it were
cold beer. He gulped down a cup of Gatorade and thought about
heading to the training room for that massage when Coach
Raymond’s booming voice rattled his brain.
And here came the doctor’s antithesis. Coach was a pro
linebacker in the late 1970s, his battle over the bulge had long
been lost. The barrel chest had fallen into a pot belly and he
sweated as though he’d sprung a leak. A few wiry hairs