by Nancy Bush
“Couldn’t bring myself to. I’ve… I’ve written a letter.”
“Mmm… Bad idea,” Dee warned.
“I know.”
“Be brave. You can do it.”
“Every time I look at him I just feel hysterical. I thought if I wrote everything down, it would come out better.”
“Well, it’s a mess, but I think the direct approach, face-to-face, would be best. I’d hate to do it myself, but I think I would.”
“You’re stronger than I am.”
Dee chortled with laughter. “I’d be feeling the same way you do-probably a hundred times more scared. But when it comes to duty, both of us always do what’s best, don’t we?”
“Do we?”
“You read over that letter and see if you really want to give it to him. Then make your decision. You’ll know.”
Sherry hung up slowly, knowing Dee was right, wishing fervently that she wasn’t. In the back of her mind she’d always felt that the day would come when she would confront J.J., but in her everyday life she’d never been able to envision it. It was just too damn hard.
Smoothing her hair with one hand, she glanced down at the letter clutched tightly between the fingers of her other hand. With sudden fury, she ripped open the envelope, scanned its contents, then growled in frustration. It was terrible. Rambling and apologetic and downright embarrassing, now that she looked at it. Nope — telling J.J. he was father to a thirteen-year-old girl in neat, cursive handwriting wasn’t the way to go. She had to do it in person. Period. Tearing the missive into half-a-dozen pieces, she dusted them into the wastebasket next to the motel room’s nightstand.
With a sigh she swept her purse from the bed, then caught a glance at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. All she saw were a pair of anxious, violet eyes gazing back at her.
There had been moments in Jake Beckett’s life when he’d glimpsed the future. It wasn’t anything magical or mystical. Hardly. He’d never felt any connection to the unnamed forces around him apart from the occasional jolt of déjà vu. No, what he felt was a surety that his life would turn out a specific way if he just worked hard toward whatever end he sought. The threads of his life were woven into a fabric; a fabric that would not unravel unless he forcibly cut it apart — something he would never do.
He’d known from the outset that he was meant to be with Caroline. It was fate. She was a part of him. Another side. A facet. She didn’t demand, she waited — a paragon of patience. She was his other half.
And it didn’t matter that he neither loved nor wanted her. Waiting for the right woman, his perfect match, was a romantic notion he’d given up in high school. Marriage wasn’t like that anyway; it was living with someone day by day — a friend and companion. It was keeping everything in perspective.
He’d resolved himself to his marriage to Caroline years ago — almost from the moment Sherry Sterling had left Oceantides High. Sherry had messed with his mind all through senior year, but he’d determined that was the last time that was going to happen to him, the last time he would be so reckless.
Looking back, he was pretty certain Sherry had cared about him. She’d actually given herself to him — a memory he still couldn’t quite shake. But he’d been unsure of her and yes, he’d listened to the vituperative gossip about her. He’d fought his feelings and pretended he didn’t care. Been flat out mean to her in a way that still had the power to make him wince. Walked away from her and hung out with Caroline. The way he felt was all too intense and he was too young and scared. In retaliation, she’d looked Tim’s way and that had been Jake’s undoing. He’d smashed the grinning bastard in the face, starting a fight that had gotten them both thrown off the football team during the play-offs.
His father had never forgiven him for that, and jerk that he was then, Jake had tried to blame Sherry. Her friends pleaded with him to talk to her, to meet with her, but he’d been too arrogant, proud and just plain stupid. Then she’d called him up Valentine’s Day and he’d buckled. He couldn’t stand it, but all he could remember now was how she’d looked at him, warm and tender and available, but moron that he was, he’d refused to accept the invitation, wrapped up in his own false nobility that had nearly suffocated him.
He’d kicked himself over that. He’d wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman, before or since. And then there was one last chance. One last night of lovemaking with May rain pouring all around the tree house while Sherry whispered words of love and commitment. He’d soaked it up like some life-renewing elixir.
Then she was gone.
Sure, he’d been a jerk. He’d played with her emotions because he didn’t know how to handle his own. He’d been consumed with puppy love and scared over his feelings, so he’d never actually said the words back, although he’d sure felt them.
Love… huh. Thank God he’d kept his feelings to himself and escaped without making a total fool out of himself. It would have been an even more hellish summer after graduation if he’d given his heart and she’d stomped all over it. The best thing, he told himself nightly, was to keep his emotions locked up tight, act like their hook-ups were no big deal. She might have massacred his heart, but at least he’d held onto some dignity and self-respect.
But sometimes he still thought back and wondered what would have happened if he’d just tried harder.
Screeching to a halt in front of his parents’ home, Jake climbed out and turned toward a wild breeze that pelted him in the face. Good. He needed a slap to his senses. He’d looked at Sherry Sterling standing in Beachtime Coffee and felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Damn it all. What was wrong with him?
Unlocking the gate he jogged to the front door, thought better of it, then circled to the rear of the house and entered through the back door. But that reminded him of Sherry, too. The time she’d saved him from hypothermia.
Glancing at the clock he realized it wasn’t even noon yet. Wishing he’d succumbed to his first inclination and was now holding up a stool at the Tank House, he threw open the refrigerator door and swore violently when he realized there wasn’t a beer to be had.
“J.J.?” Patrice’s voice scraped along his nerves. Closing the door he saw her standing at the edge of the room, one hand holding open the swing door that separated the kitchen from the hall. Without a word he turned on his heel.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
To get drunk, he thought to himself while his voice stated automatically, “Don’t call me J.J… .”
The Tank House was a rustic tavern in every sense: the walls were rough boards, the floor was even rougher, the scattered tables and line of booths around the far wall all needed to be chucked at least ten years earlier.
Jake sank gratefully into the corner booth and ordered a beer. He almost said, “Maker’s Mark,” but curbed the impulse. It was a little early for straight alcohol.
“Here you go, Mr. Beckett,” one of the barmaids said, sliding the Heineken in front of him.
“Thanks.” He drank as if it were the last beer he was ever going to taste, stared at the glass, then succumbed to memories.
Their first night he’d made love to Sherry was etched on his brain: The hammock, the scent of fall leaves, the light perfume that flavored her hair and made him want to bury his face in those thick tresses. Her body was satin. She’d given it so effortlessly that night. Even to this day when he thought of her soft flesh and the rustle of eager hands removing confining clothes and even more eager lips discovering secret hollows and curves… he could scarcely contain his body’s reaction..
She told him she loved him over and over again. At first he’d soaked up the adoration like it was his due. Ego. He’d been lousy with it. J.J. Beckett, quarterback of the football team, most sought-after dream guy; God, it was miserable to admit, but he bought into the whole damn thing, hook, line and sinker.
When he first made love to Sherry, he’d never uttered words of love in return. She’d been hurt; he could feel how c
onfused she was, but he hadn’t really cared. Not the way he should have. Not then. Not at eighteen and not with his own insecurities.
He supposed, in a way, he was somewhat responsible for her next move. Hindsight was so incredibly clear. She’d turned to Tim to make him jealous and it had worked like the proverbial charm. He’d wanted to murder his old football partner. Turning to the solace of Caroline’s arms hadn’t been any answer, either. Caroline’s coolness was so off-putting that even his friends’ assurances that she was probably hot under all that ice could neither convince Jake nor make him want her.
So, he blamed Sherry totally and fought his feelings for her. And he just knew — the way he sometimes felt the weight of certainty about the future — that she was trouble for him. About as bad a match as could be. And it didn’t take his mother’s continual haranguing about her to convince him, either — though Patrice was particularly eloquent on the subject of Sherry Sterling.
No, it was his own innate awareness of what would work, and what wouldn’t. And he knew it wasn’t ever going to work with Sherry.
Then she’d phoned him on Valentine’s Day. And like the love-hungry fool he’d been, he’d met her for a soft drink and some stupid small talk and a ridiculous heart-shaped pizza. There was a lushness about her that never ceased to intrigue him; he could look at her for hours. And that sarcastic tone was such a shock. Half the time he felt she was three steps ahead of him, but then he could read the desperation in her eyes and he sensed again the trap he would fall into if he were ever to take those last steps toward her.
But it hadn’t stopped him wanting her. He’d hated seeing her with Tim, even if it was just a chance word in the halls. He hated seeing her with any other guy.
“Another?” the bartender asked. Jake lifted his head. He’d ripped the bar napkin into strips. Nodding, Jake expelled a sigh of frustration, wishing the past mattered as little as he would like everyone to believe.
There’d been a time at the beginning of their senior year when they’d hung out as a sixsome — he and Sherry, Matt and Roxanne, Ryan and Summer. None of them had been really dating, although he and Sherry were connected at a primal level that made him feel as if an engine were always humming inside his head. The night he and Sherry had first made love ended their group; he’d ended it. He’d wanted a different kind of relationship, although he’d been clueless as to what that different kind of relationship might be.
And then he’d sabotaged it all anyway. Had been unable to risk words of love and commitment and had left her high and dry. He’d let his body do the talking and been proud of himself for his detachment.
Like that had worked. He’d about gone crazy when she drifted toward Tim.
Then in May, after that tentative Valentine’s Day truce and a throbbing need that wouldn’t die, Jake had run for her like a dying man.
And she’d been waiting. He’d picked her up outside Bernie’s, wrapped her in his arms, told her how much he’d missed her, how much he wanted her, and her resistance had melted like spring snow. They’d made love in the hammock all night while water dripped musically around the tree house. Only when the sun rose and Sherry remarked how she’d never stayed out all night before, did Jake start having second thoughts. Terrible thoughts. Mean thoughts that should never have been voiced whether he believed them or not.
There had been rumors that she’d been sleeping with Tim, too. There had even been talk that she was pregnant and not sure who the father was. That had nearly stopped his heart, considering that he was definitely a candidate. But he hadn’t believed any of it. Not really. Well, sort of. Rumors flew through Oceantides High like the wind. But the same rumors had tagged after him about Tina and they’d been false then, too.
But waking up that wet spring morning, Sherry Sterling’s warm nude body cuddled in his arms, Jake Beckett had asked himself in a cold, scared voice, What the hell are you doing? How could he keep making such stupid mistakes? He hadn’t used any protection. Either time. And what did he know about Sherry Sterling, anyway, except that her home life was bad enough for her to want a ticket out of it?
With the benefit of hindsight, he could see what a bastard he’d been, changing from passionate lover to remorseful stranger in such rapid succession that Sherry was left stunned and wounded. She gazed up at him through those huge eyes and although he hated himself, he’d answered her questions about love by babbling on about how much he liked her and that their hookups were really fun.
His voice had dried up at the sparkle of tears in her eyes, tears left unshed. He’d wanted to drag her back into his arms and shout how much he loved her, but it was too late.
He told himself he’d done the right thing; there was no future for them.
He loathed himself like he’d never loathed anything before, or since.
The next few weeks had been the purest form of torture. Self-inflicted. He deserved every moment of it. Anguish gnawed at him. He’d been so cruel. He hadn’t meant to be.
Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he’d called Sherry but to his shock she was out with Tim. Fury licked through him, hot and nasty and evil. So, he’d been right, after all. She’d just been looking for a way out. If she couldn’t have J.J. Beckett, she would settle for Tim Delaney.
Jake wanted to rip out Tim’s heart. Instead, he concentrated on coldly learning to hate Sherry.
The same night he learned Sherry was seeing Tim again, Jake’s parents were having a dinner party at their house and had invited the Newsmiths. Jake was supposed to behave like a proper gentleman. Caroline was there, of course, but all he could think about was Sherry — and Tim — and a seething, silent rage, careened his emotions out of control. He was less than worthless as a host — a glowering, serious maniac.
And then Sherry showed up at the house. Shaking, upset, panicked, she rang the front bell, a summons answered by his mother. Patrice strode into the salon where he half sprawled in a chair, a blatant display of arrogance and disrespect.
As if divining Sherry was somehow the cause, Patrice bit out frostily, “That trashy Sterling girl is here to see you. I had half a mind to tell her you weren’t here. Make it quick.”
Everyone stared. Jake took his time rising to his feet, but inside his heart hammered and perspiration collected along the back of his neck and palms. Nerves. God, she could turn him into a mush.
Patrice followed him to the front door. “Don’t invite her in. I don’t know where Caroline gets her patience!”
“I’ll handle this,” he told her through his teeth.
“We have guests, J.J.”
Jake ignored her. He practically ran to Sherry’s arms, desperate for escape, his own anger and hurt turning him deaf, dumb and blind. But she was shivering and wretched, immersed in some inner turmoil that, as it turned out, had nothing to do with him…
“It was Tim,” she whispered, staring down at herself in horrified disbelief.
Belatedly Jake noticed several buttons were ripped off her shirt. Her hair was mussed. A streak of dirt painted her cheek. Half-choked sobs issued from her throat as she ran shaking fingers through her tangled mane, embarrassment and fear turning her cheeks alabaster white.
He’d seen red. He left with Sherry beside him in the BMW, determined to beat Tim Delaney within an inch of his life.
“No,” she’d moaned, one hand on his arm as he furiously wheeled his car onto the road, nearly sideswiping Mr. Newsmith’s black Mercedes. “There something else. I — I need to talk to you.”
“You want to talk about something besides Tim’s attack?” Jake demanded.
“He scared me, but I just — I just need to see you.” Her voice was strangled. “Forget about him for just a minute.”
“Forget about him?” Jake bellowed. “Are you crazy?”
He’d looked at her, then. Really examined her. And he hadn’t liked what he saw. Could she have faked this whole “attack” story? A smudge of dirt on her face, a few ripped buttons, a shaking lower lip — it wou
ld be so easy to dupe someone as lovesick as J.J. Beckett.
Instead of feeling sympathy, he’d begun to wonder what was real. Near rape, or just a ploy to win his attention? How convenient that Tim had been so persistent. Or maybe she led Tim on and involving J.J. was her way of working on him.
He’d driven her to the beach, questions digging at his brain. She was shaking from head to toe, self-conscious about her blouse, huddled on the passenger side of the car.
“I need to know what your feelings are for me,” she said in such a quiet voice he could scarcely hear her. When he didn’t respond, she added, “I know you like me, but is there anything else?”
“Like what?” he’d asked, treading carefully.
“Do you love me… just a little?”
He gazed at her detachedly. It was a hell of a performance, but she had to think he was a complete moron to believe it. The Sherry Sterling he knew was confident and spicy and sarcastic, and this lost-little-girl stuff was just too much to buy.
“You’re playing a game,” he said.
“What?”
“You probably weren’t even with Tim. You’re just trying to get some sympathy.”
Her jaw dropped. “You think I did this to myself?” She gestured to her clothes, so utterly stunned that Jake instantly realized he’d been wrong.
“Maybe your father?” he said feebly.
“Oh, God!”
She nearly ripped the door off its hinges in her haste to get out of his car.
“I didn’t mean it,” he apologized instantly. This was the truth. It had been a horrible thing to say. He had no basis of fact. It was all rumor about her family anyway.
He scrambled out after her. They faced each other with a warm May breeze billowing her hair around her pale, oval face.
“I hate you!” she declared in a voice packed with rage. “You don’t know anything!”
“Look, I — I’m sorry.”
“You’re such an asshole. Everything revolves around you. You’re so blind!”
“I believe Tim attacked you.”
