Always with You (WIth You Trilogy) (38 page)

“That tree is gorgeous,” she sighed happily.

“You like that tree?” I smirked.

She nodded, her feet dropping to the grass as I lowered her to the ground, taking care to run my hands over her delightful body as she slipped down me.

“Recognise it at all?” I prompted because I had expected her to recognise it immediately but I should have known better what with her useless sense of direction.

“Should I?” She frowned, scrutinising me as if trying to figure out the answer.

I shrugged with feigned nonchalance and gestured for her to take a closer look.

She edged nearer and stopped dead in her tracks. I knew that from where she was stood she’d be able to see through the gap in the bushes at the far end of the garden.

“Oh my God!” She screamed in delight. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” I smiled. “Chez Carter.”

Waiting for a house near her family home
to come onto the market had been pure torture. This one had been for sale for four months and the sale had fallen through three times already. I swear I’d had a heart attack every time. As soon as the money came through, I was on the phone to the estate agent making an offer for the full asking price.

I’d grown up without any real sense of family, but family was a huge part of who Jamie was and I wanted
our children to have that too.

Jamie squealed with delight as
our friends and family started slipping through the hole in the bushes joining the two plots of land. Ian smirked at her and accepted the hug she offered before pointing towards me in an instruction for her to turn around.

My heart hammered in my chest almost painfully as I waited for her to see me on my knee, ring in hand. For a second her grin
remained before one hand shot up to cover her mouth in shock and she just blatantly stared at me.

Craig gave her a gentle shove in my direction and she came a little closer, coming to a stop a few steps away.

“Jamie-Lea Carter,” I cleared my throat, on the border of losing it. I felt sick and invigorated at the same time. Like I could either move mountains or faint at any second. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were something special but I didn’t realise just how special. Every breath I take is for you, every step I take is towards you, every waking thought revolves around you and my dreams never stray far.

You consume me, heart and soul. You gave yourself to me and risked your life for me. For that, I owe you my own life. Let me use it to make you happy every second of every day for the rest of my life. Marry me?”

I blanked out everything but the beautiful creature in front of me. I’d never experienced anything so painful as the silence that enveloped us as I waited for her reaction.

Then she surprised me by doing the last thing I expected and bursting into tears. I was wrong. Her tears hurt
far more than the silence. I searched in vague for words to take away what I’d done wrong. The last thing I wanted to do was make her cry.

“Jamie… I-”

She flung herself at me, taking me completely by surprise. I landed on my back with her on top of me as she showered my face with kisses, salty from her tears, which I now understood to be tears of happiness.

“Is that a yes?” I managed to get out in between returning her
barrage of kisses.

“It’s a yes,” she grinned, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

Whooping and cheering erupted around us, bursting the private bubble we’d been absorbed in. Jamie blushed, she’d obviously forgotten that we had company before launching herself at me. I slipped the simple solitaire ring onto her finger, staring in wonder at the symbol of our bond.
Mine. Forever.
The two sweetest words I’d ever know.

As we accepted a round of handshakes and hugs from all the people that were important to us, our eyes met and I could see her thoughts were the same as mine. Love them as we did, we both just wanted to be alone to celebrate. Preferably naked.

We had all the time in the world for that though. Forever was a long time and I would love every second of it because I’d have her. Right here with me. Always.

A big thank-you to every single person who has read the ‘With You’ trilogy. I absolutely loved writing Jamie-Lea and Jason’s story.

It feels strange to be saying goodbye to these guys as they have been such a big part of my life. I feel like I actually know them.

My next series of books is called ‘Contradictions’ and will feature a few familiar faces. Jamie and Jason may be mentioned a few times so it’s not goodbye forever. The series will be related but each can be read as a standalone.

I’ve included a sample at the end of this book for those who are interested.

I want to add a particular note of thanks to all the book bloggers and reviewers who have taken the time to support myself and other indie authors. You guys rock. Hard.

I love to hear from readers so please feel free to get in touch:

http://www.facebook.com/RJSable

http://www.twitter.com/rj_sable

http://rjsable.wordpress.com

[email protected]

Lists are things of beauty. They breed order, structure and simplicity. I have a list for everything and I live by my lists. Today’s list is folded up in my pocket in a perfectly formed circle. I mastered the art of the perfect circle years ago. Just like lists, circles are beautiful.
One single line with no flaws. Each part of the circle is identical to the next. No part is ugly.

I wrap my fist around the perfect little circle in my pocket. I don’t need to take it out. I know exactly what it says.

1. Don’t make friends.
   
2. Don’t make any sentences longer than five words.
   
3. Don’t smile.
   
4. Don’t explain yourself. To anyone.
   
5. Most important. No matter what, don’t talk to HIM.
   

I know today’s list is a good one because it’s a round number. Circles are round. That’s perfect because I need a good list today of all days.

What do you do when the boy who rescues the last remnants of your soul rejects what’s left straight afterwards? You move on. That’s what you do. I’m not the sort of girl who sits on the sofa with a bucket of ice cream mourning over anything.

Especially not over a boy.

That’s the reason behind number five on today’s list. I’ve been to almost every school in the city. It’s not my fault they’ve all kicked me out. If they can’t accept who I am then that’s not my problem, it’s society’s. The last school in the city is
his
school. The only one I really wanted to avoid but I’m left with no choice.

My aunty had to call in a favour to get them to accept me and I only agreed because she and my mum begged me until I gave in because I couldn’t be arsed to listen to them whine any more.

My mum is dead set on me getting a proper education. I would have been perfectly happy to finish at sixteen with my mediocre grades. I know what I want to do with my life and I don’t need a piece of paper to let me do it.

I stop outside a little shop window and check my appearance a few hundred yards away from the establishment that will be my prison and torture chamber for the next two years.

My black and blue dreadlock wig is firmly in place, hiding my fiery mane of red hair. It’s not that I don’t like my hair – I fudging love it – but for some reason it makes people think I’m bubbly and approachable and that’s not what I’m going for.

My solid black contact lenses are both staying put and my thick white layer of foundation is holding perfectly without any unwanted creases or smudging. Bear would have a fit at the amount of animals that were maimed, tortured, and generally humiliated in the process of forming my anti-social mask.

Bear’s my ‘spirit uncle’. Yep. He’s a hippy but I love him so I put up with his quirks. I also put up with his hemp clothing, funky smelling teas, and herbal medicines.

It’s not really a problem. I’m used to it from my mum. She re-found herself after my life was saved and then ruined and I’ve been dealing with her
“new self” ever since. Four long years. Not the longest years of my life so I shouldn’t complain. At least she’s alive and happy.

Certain that my mascara, eyeliner, and foundation will scare off anybody who might otherwise approach me, I trudge my muddy boots down the road towards the new school.

It’s the first day of the school year and even though most of the other students are in the same boat as I am, I get the honour of starting my morning off in the head master’s office.

I’m pleasantly surprised when I’m called in. I’m expecting a pudgy old guy with a sweat-stained shirt that’s seen better days and the haunted brow of a man who’s spent too much time with teenagers. What I get is a snappily dressed woman in a pencil skirt and her hair wrapped into a bun so tight that I’m wondering if her brain is hurting.

“Miss Belrose, how lovely to meet you,” Miss brain-strain greets me with a voice that’s too cheerful for the carefully kept woman she’s portraying.

I grunt in greeting because she doesn’t need to be my friend and, quite frankly, if she kicks me out, there’s nowhere left for mum to send me and I can go start my business now instead of in two years time.

“Not a morning person, I see,” she smiles with a hint of humour. “I’m Ms Stoner, the headmistress.”

I raise an eyebrow at her because I’m not sure if she’s joking.

“Yes, that’s my real name,” she chuckles to herself. “I’m told it dates back to the twelfth century and implies my early ancestors were stone masons. Hardly relevant now, I’d say, but the explanation is usually necessary.”

I pretend to ignore her and stare out of her window at the mass of teenagers who’ve gathered in the courtyard. I’m immensely thankful that this isn’t one of those schools that make the sixth form students wear uniforms. That’s some real medieval crap. Schools are meant to be moulding future generations and yet they   force all their students to look the same. Solid grounds.

“Have a seat, Miss Belrose,” the Stoner urges.

When I just glare back and stay standing, she sits opposite me on a bright purple sofa rather than behind her neat and tidy desk. I know I’ve won so I take a seat on the armchair. I’ve made my point, there’s no need to stand for the rest of this ridiculous meeting.

“I’m sure you’re nervous, starting at a new school,” she starts.

I give her a condescending look because this isn’t my first rodeo. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve been sat in this situation before.

She ignores my condescension and continues. “But I also wanted to make sure we understood each other.

Here it comes. I’m a bad egg. She doesn’t want any trouble. She doesn’t want to see me in ripped black jeans and safety pin lined t-shirts any more. I saw this crap coming a mile away and it’s nothing I haven’t already heard.

“I’ve seen your academic record and I’ve got to say, I think you’ve been treated unfairly.”

I barely stop myself from gawking at her because that’s not what I was expecting. I’m pretty fudging proud of myself for maintaining my stony glare throughout.

“I know why you’ve been expelled from schools previously and it’s very admirable to want to protect the underdog but I hope that whilst you’re at our school, you’ll feel comfortable enough to talk to myself or another teacher if you witness somebody being bullied.”

I grace her with an eye roll upon hearing this because she’s full of crap. They’re all the same, teachers. If I report somebody, all that they’re going to get is a tap on the wrist and a letter home to mummy while the person they’re torturing is left scarred inside and out. How fudgin
g fair is that?