A/N

This really is the end. I can't quite believe it. It has been an unbelievable amount of fun - far more than I ever thought it would be - and a HUGE part of that is because of all of you fabulous people who have read it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. If I could, I'd have Jake make thank-you cakes for each of you. I never thought a story in which Edward was absent from the start would ever have as many people enjoy it as it seems to have done - I am overwhelmed.

Special thanks to Never, for endless reading; and my undying gratitude to Conversed and Brokende, without whom I wouldn't have extended this story at all.

I will be posting up a separate story consisting of outtakes and extras from this story. Some of them some of you will already have seen, and some of them are new. Put me on author alert if you want to see when that goes up - it'll probably be next week some time.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I am responsible for what I've done to her characters in this story.

I hand Alice another packet. "There should be some nice ones in there."

She slides out the photographs and starts flicking through them, lingering on some, passing quickly over others. She pauses on one for some time, then passes it to me.

"For the middle one?"

I look at it, and there's only one possible response. "Yes."

It's a photo of me, taken a couple of weeks ago. I'm not quite looking at the camera – I must be looking at someone standing next to the person holding it. I look so happy.

We sort through old photographs for hours, and finally I've got my collection finished. I leave Alice to do the careful placing, cutting, and rearranging. I was never artistic enough for that sort of thing. When she's finished, we put the back of the frame on, and hang it on the wall. It takes pride of place in the living room, and I stand back and look at it.

It's almost overwhelming.

The picture of me is in the middle, but my face is there over and over again, photo after photo after photo surrounding that one. There's pictures of me with Alice, with Bella, with Jake, with Emmett. There's pictures of me and Edward, laughing together, hugging, and one of us kissing that I don't think I've seen before. There's pictures of my friends on their own, too. One of Angela cutting a cake, one of Alice doing jazz hands and looking crazy. One of Riley raising an eyebrow, one of Jake doing one-handed cartwheels on the beach. One of Sam scoring a try, flying through the air and covered in mud. One of Emmett with his arms round Alice and Bella, looking cool. One of Jake wearing a pinny and glaring at the camera, pointing with a wooden spoon for emphasis.

It's my life, my friends, my past life. Edward belongs on there as much as the others do, and I can look at his photographs and smile.

When people come round, they look at the collection, searching for themselves. When Jake looks at them, he laughs, then calls me a dick for putting up the picture of him in an apron.

He points at a picture. "This is Edward, is it?"

"Yes." My voice is quiet, but strong.

He looks at me and smiles. "I'm glad you can put pictures up now. Not too many though, eh? Don't want to scare off the coach!"

"It'd take more than that to scare Emmett, Jake."

"More than what?" Em walks over to us and look at us both quizzically.

"More than pictures of Edward," I say, looking back at the collection.

Emmett wraps his arms around me, leaning his chin on my shoulder as he looks at them.

"Fuck, Jas, he was gorgeous," he muses. "What chance do I stand?"

I lean back against him, relaxing into his arms. "You're alive, for a start."

He laughs, tightens his grip, and leans down to kiss me.

Jake coughs, and waves. "Er, guys? Straight guy in the room still."

"Such a shame, huh? You think we could turn him?" Em whispers in my ear.

I snort, giggle, and pull free of his arms. "That's just mean." Jake is looking at us disapprovingly, and I can't stop smiling as Emmett laughs and winks at him.

::::::::::

I've got so much to tell you. Well, I've got so much to tell. I'm on my feet, Edward, and I'm okay. I'm redecorating the house. I never really liked your minimalist taste that much. I'm keeping it in the kitchen – it just seems to work – but I'm putting colour in the rest of the house. And cushions, and pictures, and clutter everywhere. I'm thinking about getting a dog. It's hard to decide, though. I've been to the local shelter, and there's hundreds of them. There's a gorgeous big one, a German shepherd cross I think. He's lovely, but Jake says I only like him because the dog's name is Jake. Who knows, maybe he's right.

That's all water under the bridge now, by the way. Jake's got used to the idea that he's attractive to men, and I'm weaning myself off him. Emmett is helping with that. We've been out a few times, and are taking it slow – it's not a relationship, but it could be, if we try. I don't think I mind either way, right now. But it's good to be out, having fun with a guy, just the two of us. He turns heads wherever we go, and I get that proud feeling – the one that says "yeah, he's hot, and he's with me". There is a streak of mischief in him a mile wide: he gets chatted up by women, and he just rolls with it, flirts back, and then pretends to get distracted, and kisses me. You should see their faces.

Sometimes I go out with the rugby club and all the associated hangers-on. I'm becoming something of a club mascot, actually. Perhaps being the coach's not-quite-boyfriend does that, perhaps it's because they've all been so protective of me. Riley insists on trying to set me up with every man he sees, regardless of Em's reaction.

Anyway, that's what my life is like. The girls, and the boys, and me. It would have been good to have you here to enjoy it with me.

I'm not going to write to you any more. I don't think I need to do it, and I know it makes no difference to you. Maybe I'll see you again one day, years from now. Until then, though, know that I loved you, and a part of me always will. In the meantime, I'm going to love, and I'm going to live.

Goodbye, Edward.

Jasper

I fold the letter and slide it into the envelope. I seal it, and I seal the older ones along with it. Putting them in a shoebox, I carry them upstairs, and into the loft. I set the box down, alongside the dusty, forgotten sidelines of my life, and turn away. I climb halfway down the ladder, then look back. The box is almost lost amid a jumble of old suitcases and childhood toys. I smile at it, and turn out the light.