Summer had warned her; she’d warned herself. But no, no, no. Her own swelled head had gotten in her way. For a few weeks she’d actually believed J.J. Beckett loved her. Mr. Wonderful himself was in love with Sherry Sterling!
And then it happened. Just as Summer had predicted. After that night of wonder, love and passion J.J. Beckett cooled right off as if the whole scenario had been previously scripted. He said adios and good riddance. And Sherry Sterling, shattered fool that she was, begged him to take her back.
Sherry could scarcely look back on those wretched days following their hook up any more than she could remember the physical act itself. She’d blocked it out. Wounded, sick at heart, full of self-loathing and naked pain, she spun headlong into Tim Delaney’s waiting arms.
And J.J. punched him out. After school. The night of the first playoff game. Tim punched back and they were both ejected from the team, effectively ending Oceantides High’s chances of winning. The result was a slaughter while rain poured down on the depressed Oceantides fans who watched their broken team struggle miserably and futilely against damning odds.
Everyone blamed Sherry. Sherry blamed herself. Except some part of her rejoiced. J.J. must love her, mustn’t he? she reasoned. He’d broken Tim’s nose for her. He’d gotten himself thrown off the team for her. That meant something, didn’t it? Well, didn’t it?
What it meant was J.J. wouldn’t speak to her and it was only Tim who still wanted to see her. Not J.J. Never J.J. And although Sherry ignored Tim and did her best to show J.J. that she still loved him — to the point of employing Summer and Roxanne to try and plead her case, to the point of trying to plead her case with Ryan and Matt herself — she only succeeded in driving him further away. She drove him straight to Caroline. To his own kind. To other people who lived “on the water” and away from riffraff like Sherry Sterling.
And that was the way the rest of the year went — except for Valentine’s Day, which she wasn’t going to think about because it didn’t matter anymore and it was too depressing anyway — until one night in late May when the rhododendrons were in bloom in a rainbow of pink and blood-red and lavender. The air was warm and heady with the smell of romance and J.J., for reasons she never fully understood, was waiting for her when she got off work at Bernie’s.
They stared at each other nakedly and something broke wide open. When he dragged her into his arms and kissed her through her tears it was Sherry whose heart and body betrayed her desire to rekindle their passion.
There was only one place on each of their minds: the tree house.
In the heat of their lovemaking, bathed by the warm light of the oil lamp, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Sherry forgot all her warnings to herself and let her heart speak.
“I love you,” she moaned. “Don’t leave me again.”
“Sherry …” he muttered, kissing her fervently. “What are you doing to me?”
“Don’t say anything. Please, don’t say anything …”
They made love as if they were starving for each other — his body pressed urgently to hers, her own writhing with need, loneliness and love. His mouth was hot with possession and her limbs melted beneath.
She should have demanded an answering vow of love and commitment. She should have been more careful. She should not have mistaken the ragged desire in his voice for something more.
Now, years later, Sherry drew a shuddering breath and pushed her empty cup aside. She covered her face with her hands, then raked her fingers through her hair, tugging on the ends to feel the pain, as if she needed to be reminded. Her mouth twisted in irony. How strange that it was she who’d ended up leaving him.
Because of that last night together.
The night their daughter Mandy was conceived.
VALENTINE’S CHILD — NANCY BUSH
Chapter Five
“Would you like anything
And then it happened. Just as Summer had predicted. After that night of wonder, love and passion J.J. Beckett cooled right off as if the whole scenario had been previously scripted. He said adios and good riddance. And Sherry Sterling, shattered fool that she was, begged him to take her back.
Sherry could scarcely look back on those wretched days following their hook up any more than she could remember the physical act itself. She’d blocked it out. Wounded, sick at heart, full of self-loathing and naked pain, she spun headlong into Tim Delaney’s waiting arms.
And J.J. punched him out. After school. The night of the first playoff game. Tim punched back and they were both ejected from the team, effectively ending Oceantides High’s chances of winning. The result was a slaughter while rain poured down on the depressed Oceantides fans who watched their broken team struggle miserably and futilely against damning odds.
Everyone blamed Sherry. Sherry blamed herself. Except some part of her rejoiced. J.J. must love her, mustn’t he? she reasoned. He’d broken Tim’s nose for her. He’d gotten himself thrown off the team for her. That meant something, didn’t it? Well, didn’t it?
What it meant was J.J. wouldn’t speak to her and it was only Tim who still wanted to see her. Not J.J. Never J.J. And although Sherry ignored Tim and did her best to show J.J. that she still loved him — to the point of employing Summer and Roxanne to try and plead her case, to the point of trying to plead her case with Ryan and Matt herself — she only succeeded in driving him further away. She drove him straight to Caroline. To his own kind. To other people who lived “on the water” and away from riffraff like Sherry Sterling.
And that was the way the rest of the year went — except for Valentine’s Day, which she wasn’t going to think about because it didn’t matter anymore and it was too depressing anyway — until one night in late May when the rhododendrons were in bloom in a rainbow of pink and blood-red and lavender. The air was warm and heady with the smell of romance and J.J., for reasons she never fully understood, was waiting for her when she got off work at Bernie’s.
They stared at each other nakedly and something broke wide open. When he dragged her into his arms and kissed her through her tears it was Sherry whose heart and body betrayed her desire to rekindle their passion.
There was only one place on each of their minds: the tree house.
In the heat of their lovemaking, bathed by the warm light of the oil lamp, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Sherry forgot all her warnings to herself and let her heart speak.
“I love you,” she moaned. “Don’t leave me again.”
“Sherry …” he muttered, kissing her fervently. “What are you doing to me?”
“Don’t say anything. Please, don’t say anything …”
They made love as if they were starving for each other — his body pressed urgently to hers, her own writhing with need, loneliness and love. His mouth was hot with possession and her limbs melted beneath.
She should have demanded an answering vow of love and commitment. She should have been more careful. She should not have mistaken the ragged desire in his voice for something more.
Now, years later, Sherry drew a shuddering breath and pushed her empty cup aside. She covered her face with her hands, then raked her fingers through her hair, tugging on the ends to feel the pain, as if she needed to be reminded. Her mouth twisted in irony. How strange that it was she who’d ended up leaving him.
Because of that last night together.
The night their daughter Mandy was conceived.
VALENTINE’S CHILD — NANCY BUSH
Chapter Five
“Would you like anything
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