Jane's Surrender (Hard World Tour #2) Page 2

  Fuck, I was screwed.

  New York, New York

  Jane, 14 years old, 2 months after Trenton

  “Well, where is this perfect American family?” I asked Anne, while holding my backpack and drinking Coke from a can. We were standing at a busy airport gate for the arrivals, waiting for those freaks, as I called them, to pick me up. The papers were finalized, and I was officially part of their family. Fuck me, seriously. For some reason, they couldn't come to Trenton, so they sent tickets for Anne and me. We traveled first class with all those big seats and stewardesses who were nice, even if you spilled something on them.

  “Jane, behave. Let’s not make them angry with you on the first day,” she said, and her words made me chuckle.

  “What are they going to do? It’s not like they can get rid of me.”

  Before she could say anything else, we saw them. There was no doubt it was them, because they were staring at us and had a paper in their hands that said Jane Armstrong.

  The man was tall. He towered over his wife. He wore an expensive suit, and the way it hugged his body, he obviously worked out. His eyes were deep brown, and his hair was sandy blond. Overall, he was handsome, I guess, and had a kind smile. The woman he hugged was different. She had emerald green eyes, long black hair that fell in waves down her back, and the top of her head barely reached her husband’s shoulders. Her body was slender, and she was wearing a strapless white summer dress, which hugged her curves. She had tears in her eyes, and for some reason, the image was familiar to me. It was as if I’d seen this woman before. But I just shook my head, because where would I have met this woman?

  Then there was the boy.

  He was standing in the middle, in front of them with their hands on his arms, and had a rose in his hand. He had brown eyes, black hair, and tanned skin like me. In fact, he looked a lot like me. Which was weird, I guess, but then maybe they made sure the new kid matched theirs? Life in foster care made it easy to guess the age of kids by small details, and this boy was very attached to his mama, which meant he was around five or six.

  Perfect little family indeed.

  Anne grabbed my elbow and pushed me toward them, ignoring my glare.

  “Be nice,” she warned, causing me to roll my eyes and plaster a smile on my face.

  “Hello, Jane,” the woman said softly, almost caressingly, and somehow, her voice triggered some memories. It was a weird feeling. I was always sensitive to sounds, and her voice sounded so familiar.

  Hell, maybe with all her money and shit, she was some kind of celebrity.

  Since I was silently staring at them, Anne jabbed me slightly. The action wasn't missed by those people either.

  “Hey.” My voice was bored and uninterested. What was the point of all this anyway? They were probably weirdos. Why would they need a grown-ass kid otherwise?

  “We’re happy you’re here.” The man’s voice was deep and commanding. Probably no one ever said no to him. “My name is Marcus, and this is my wife, Carissa.”

  “Yeah, okay.” There wasn't much else to say, but by the way his knuckles tightened on her shoulders and she hugged closer to him, they weren't happy with my reactions.

  Well, then.

  Big fucking surprise.

  Suddenly, the rose was in my face, and I looked down to the boy who raised it high.

  “Hello,” he told me, and then kept those huge eyes of his on me. “Yo,” he giggled. Only God knew why, and then he pushed the rose again.

  Since the damned thing was hitting my face because he couldn't really see where he was pushing it, I took it from his hands. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  He blinked and then smiled, showing he was missing two front teeth. “Benjamin.”

  “Cool.”

  Marcus took my bag then gave an envelope to Anne. She opened it and looked inside. Then she squealed for the first time in her life, I believe, and looked at the man with awe.

  “It’s too much, Mr. Armstrong. You know it’s too much.” She tried to give it back to him; although I have to admit, her attempts weren't determined.

  He just shook his head, snapped his eyes at me, and murmured, “It’s not. You have no idea what you did for us.”

  Anne turned to me. “I guess this is it, kiddo. No more trying to find you a home, right?” She even sniffed. Seriously, what was up with her?

  “Yeah, I’ll be eighteen soon enough anyway.” I hoped those people weren't strict assholes. She hugged me close, and for a second, I allowed myself to enjoy her arms. Although no good ever came from her efforts, she did try, and she was the one permanent fixture in my life. That had to count for something, right?

  “I’ll miss you, kid,” she whispered.

  Leaning back, I gave her a cocky smirk. “Hard not to miss me.”

  She laughed then went back to check in for her return flight, and with a final wave, I said goodbye to my old life. No matter what, the social workers and foster homes were behind me now.

  Benjamin took my hand in his, dragged me after his parents, and chatted all the way to the car. He was talking about his house, how big it was, that it was great to have a sister now, and so on. He was already giving me a headache from all his jabbering.

  Once Marcus put my backpack in the trunk, he settled Ben in a car seat, and then fastened the belt over me. Satisfied we were all safe, he jogged around and started the car. It was a nice, big, comfortable car, but since I had no clue about the brands, I couldn't guess how much it cost, except that it was probably a lot.

  Meanwhile, Ben’s mouth didn't shut up.

  “So, do you like comic books?”

  “No.”

  He blinked, but then nodded. “I have a lot of comics.”

  “Um, okay.” I’d never been in New York before, and the beauty of the city was mesmerizing, so I found it hard to focus on what he was saying. The tall buildings, busy streets, fashion. It was like I stepped into another dimension.

  “I can give you some of mine. We can read them together.” The kid was seriously into talking.

  “Okay.”

  “Then there are cartoons,” he said excitedly, but since my face was glued to the window, he needed to grab my hand and tug on it to get me to look at him again.

  “Cartoons?” I repeated stupidly, and he eagerly nodded, which made his hair fall over his eyes. When I leaned over to move it, he smiled again and pushed something into my hand.

  “What’s this?” He had given me a sort of card or something with superheroes on it.

  “It’s the card for my club.”

  “Your club?”

  “Yeah, my comics club. We have a room in our house just for all my stuff, and no one can enter,” he whispered in my ear loudly. “Now you can come anytime.” The kid probably had no friends around if he was so into his comics and me.

  “Sure.”

  “And there is—”

  “Ben, baby, give Jane a little break, okay?” Carissa said softly. Although Ben frowned, he nodded. I caught her eyes on me; something in them was hard to describe.

  Whatever.

  “So, Jane,” Marcus started. “Anne told us you play the drums?”

  Music was one part of me no one could take away. I discovered my passion at the age of eleven and never let it go. I watched countless rock shows, studied some instruments in magazines, but had no clue how to use them. They cost money, and classes did too. No one ever had enough money around me.

  “No, I don’t. There was no money to study, or to even get an instrument.” Marcus’ hands squeezed tightly on the steering wheel, and I could see in the rearview mirror that his face went grim. Carissa put her hand on his knee, and he instantly relaxed and gave her a sad, pained smile, and said, “You’ll have everything now.”

  2 months later

  Marcus and Carissa hadn’t lied about the fact I would have whatever I wanted. They were loaded, as in have-a-private-jet loaded. They owned a big penthouse on the Upper East Side (I later found out it was on
e of the most expensive places in New York) and it had two floors, five bedrooms, a living room and a big kitchen, not to mention a private elevator. They gave me my own room and let me decorate it the way I wanted, and it was an incredible feeling to have this space to myself.

  Carissa let me buy all the clothes I wanted, and for the first time, the clothes would be mine only, and a part of me was excited. They didn't push me to call them Mom or Dad; they didn't push for much at all. They just watched me carefully. Something was always in their eyes that I couldn't quite catch. It unsettled me, but not for long, because Ben had no problem getting my attention. The dude seriously loved to talk, and always dragged me to play in his room, which was decorated in a Batman theme. I later found out Batman was his favorite hero.

  They also signed me up for music classes, and honestly, I liked piano, but drums… They had a magnetism about them that made my hands twitch to grab the sticks and use all my power to make noise. Learning was painful too. Sometimes, my hands hurt, and it was a sweaty job. At the same time, I’d never felt better than after a good hour spent with the instrument.

  That’s what brought me here.

  The view in front of me was mesmerizing.

  Brown, white, and gold colors.

  Various instruments put together to make the most amazing sounds in music.

  A drum kit.

  I stood outside the music shop, my face glued to the window. I watched in fascination as a man played for the audience inside. He softly played one of Queen’s songs on the drums—the one that made them famous, “Bohemian Rhapsody”—as someone else played the electric guitar. The only thing missing was a great singer.

  People passed by, probably amused by my behavior, and I wondered why they didn't stop to watch this thing of beauty. The level of expertise this man showed was outstanding. I wished someday I would be able to play as good as he did.

  “I think you are allowed to come inside.” The voice was warm and a little amused. I looked up and saw Marcus standing next to me. "After all, that’s why we are here, right?" He winked, which made me smile.

  Marcus and Carissa decided to give me yet another gift, which was a drum kit. I did my research through various catalogues they brought me, to make up my mind on the exact thing I wanted.

  Although they were all out of this world great, there was one that spoke to me the most.

  The bass drum was exceptionally white, like the first snow on a winter’s day; the China cymbal was shiny gold and, judging by the price, probably made out of it. Splash cymbals, hi-hat, various floor toms, hanging toms, snare drum, ride cymbal, crash cymbal…all those were made with great care, like a piece of art. I was sure they would provide the best experience for the performer.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, biting my lip nervously. It was expensive, after all.

  "Yes. Let’s go inside and do it.”

  Later that day, my first ever drum kit was delivered to my doorstep.

  One of the happiest days in my life!

  3 months later

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have a busy day ahead. Eat.”

  “Carissa, but I’m not—” She gave me the look. You know, the one a mother gives her child with narrowed eyes, which says do not shit with me. Yeah, that look. I raised my hand up. “Fine, fine. I’ll eat. Move, Ben.” He was sitting in my favorite place, and for some reason, he always would hop on it before me.

  “Say please.”

  “No. Move.” He stuck out his tongue at me. "Ben, come on. I’m not in the mood right now.” He raised his fork, took a bite from his strawberry-syrup-slathered pancake, and ignored me. I had to admit his food looked delicious, and even my stomach, which seconds ago wasn’t hungry, made growling sounds.

  “Say please.” His words could barely be heard with his mouth full.

  “Don’t talk while you chew, man. Gross.” He smiled, but the little shit still didn’t move. Before I could say anything else, Marcus came, kissed his wife on the cheek gently, sat down across from us, and chuckled.

  “Jane, you and I need to go in fifteen minutes. Eat your breakfast.” His voice was soft yet firm, so I sat on a nearby stool, which was usually occupied by Ben, shot him a glare, and ran my finger across my throat, promising him retribution. He just laughed, the little shit.

  I honestly had no clue why I kept fighting with him over my place. Maybe because in foster care, it was always important to know your place and, once you had it, you never gave it to anyone else. That way everyone knew their place.

  Carissa put a full plate of eggs and bacon, and another with pancakes and blueberry syrup, which was my favorite, in front of me, along with a glass of green tea. Then she gave the same to Marcus, except he had delicious-smelling coffee. Once everyone had their food, she sat down as well and motioned with her fork for me to start eating.

  I grabbed my fork and took my first big bite, and…well, the woman could cook. What could I say? The food was practically melting in my mouth, I was dying from the amazing taste.

  “Jane, we wanted to talk with you about something,” Marcus stated, and his words made my stomach flip.

  For crying out loud, already? I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “We know you’ve only been with us for a short time, but Carissa and I—” For the first time in my life, the deep rage inside me made me speak up before another disaster happened to me. They wanted to get rid of me? Fine. But I would be the one to say it first.

  “Listen, I don’t really need your reasons. I get it. I thought adoption papers were finalized.” I hated myself, because my voice hitched, but it was impossible to control. A girl could be sad if she was kicked out from another home. “But I kind of know the drill here. You changed your mind; you might be pregnant or something else. My point is, don’t give me any stupid speech. I’ll pack later. Can I still go to school until the end of this year? Then you can send me back.” Shit, Anne would have a lot of work again.

  Then, it serves her right for putting me in this position in the first place. Didn’t I tell her this shit wouldn't work? But, of course, no one listened to me.

  Carissa gasped and covered her mouth with her hand as tears slid down her cheeks.

  Marcus’s eyes darkened, and he fisted his hand so tightly I was surprised he didn't break the fork he was holding.

  However, the most surprising reaction came from Ben, who stopped eating, got this serious expression on his face, let go of his fork, and ran toward me, hugging me close, his syrupy hands leaving stains on my white T-shirt. He pushed his face in my stomach, and whispered, “You can’t go, Jane. I love you!” His words made me feel something. My chin trembled, but I didn't allow myself to cry. Tears were a sign of weakness, and I couldn't afford a weakness right now.

  “I love you, too, Ben.” And it was the truth. I would miss him the most. I was so into the moment with him that, for a second, I didn't register the presence of two people behind me. Then I was in Marcus’s arms, and he hugged me so close that it was hard to breath.

  “Jane, no one will ever take you away from us.” He sounded furious. “This is your home, and we’re your family.“

  “You don’t want to give me back?” I whispered and sobbed at the same time. I felt Carissa’s soothing hand on my back, and she rested her chin on the top of my head.

  “No, sweetheart. You are part of our family now. How could you even think that?” She moved in front of me and took my hands in hers. “We wanted to talk to you about summer vacation and what we have planned. We wanted to make sure you would be okay with our plans. Nothing else, honey.” She wiped away my tears and smiled. “But I’m glad you asked, because now you know for sure no one will touch you or take you away from your rightful place,” she said forcefully, and for some reason, I felt as though a deeper meaning was behind her words, but I couldn't grasp it.

  “Let’s clean you up, and then you guys can go.”

  I nodded and glanced at them one more time. Finally, I understood tha
t I was part of a family who wasn't about to throw me away like unwanted trash.

  5 months later at the summerhouse

  I always loved to read books, but there never were enough for everyone in foster care. Then Carissa and Marcus allowed me to have whatever, so I used the opportunity to read all the classics, fantasy, and even some historicals.

  When I found the family library, I looked through the shelves and found some weird books with a man and woman on the cover, in some kind of embrace, and looking through the book, I found some weird scenes.

  Like sex scenes and kissing.

  I’d never read this kind of book.

  I put it back in its place because Carissa called us for dinner, but for the whole evening, I wanted to know what that book was all about.

  Sneaking to the library in the house felt weird, but curiosity had gotten the better of me. I opened the door, made sure no one was in the hallway, and then tiptoed to the huge-ass room on the first floor. The summerhouse we stayed in was dark, and only moonlight was shining brightly through the curtains, allowing me to see the way. Finally, I reached the massive door, pushed it open as quietly as possible, went inside, and closed it behind me. I shivered slightly; it was cold here for some reason. I turned on my flashlight and looked around. Books were everywhere on shelves, like thousands of them, and the air had the familiar smells of old novels. Taking a few steps inside, I took the strange book and sat in the far corner. Even if someone had made their way to the library, they wouldn’t know I was there.

  Once I was comfortable, my flashlight clenched in one hand, I opened the book.

  That was the first time I discovered romance novels with dashing heroes and true love.

  Heroes who loved their women and were ready to do anything for them.

  Handsome, adventurous knights, pirates, and kings.

  And those worlds were beautiful and made me dream that someday I would meet someone like those heroes. He would love me unconditionally, always be faithful, and for him, I would always come first. He would never, ever let go of me, and he would kiss me hard, making my knees shake.