Believe Me (Shatter Me Book 6.5)

Ella is soon whisked away by a tornado of women—Nazeera, Alia, and Lily—who come charging out the door in a swarm, enveloping her in their depths before I’ve even had a chance to say a proper goodbye.

There’s little more than a faint squeak from Ella—

And she’s gone.

I find myself standing alone in front of what I’m still processing as my own home, my mind spinning, heart racing, when Kenji walks over to me.

“C’mon, man,” he says, still smiling. “You’ve got stuff to do, too.”

I look at him. “What kind of stuff?”

“Well, first of all, this is for you,” he says, offering me the small sprig I noticed in his hand earlier. “It’s for your lapel. It’s like a, you know—like a—a—”

“I know what a boutonniere is,” I say stiffly. I accept the small spray, examining it now with surprise. It’s a single gardenia nestled against a tasteful arrangement of its own glossy leaves, the stems tied up with a bit of black ribbon, struck through with a pin. The bundle is elegant and shockingly fragrant. Gardenias are in fact one of my favorite flowers.

I look up at Kenji then, unable to hide my confusion.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me, bro. I have no idea what kind of flower that is. J just told me what she wanted.”

“Wait.” I frown at that, more confused by the moment. “You did this?”

“I just did what she asked me to do, okay?” he says, putting up his hands. “So if you hate the flower you should talk to your fiancée, because it’s not my fault—”

“But where did this flower come from? I saw people with flowers earlier, too, and I didn’t understand where—”

“Oh.” Kenji drops his hands. He stares at me a moment before saying, “The old sector headquarters. You remember how you guys always had these rare flower arrangements at 45? We never knew where or how they were being sourced, but everyone always thought it was strange that the HQ could get fancy orchids or whatever, while civilians couldn’t get their hands on much more than dandelions. Anyway it was Juliette’s idea, actually. She recommended we track down the flower guy who used to carry out orders for The Reestablishment in this area. He helped us get everything we needed—but the flowers weren’t delivered until late last night. Another reason why J wanted to postpone.”

“Right.” I’m stunned. “Of course.”

My astonishment has nothing to do with discovering that Ella is just as impressive and resourceful as I’ve always known her to be; no, I’m simply incapable of believing anyone would go to such lengths for me.

I’m still reeling a bit as I attempt to pin the flower to my sweater, when Kenji holds up a hand again.

“Uh, don’t do that just yet,” he says. “Come on.”

“Why?”

“Because, man, we still have things to do.”

He turns as if to go, but I remain rooted to the ground.

“What kinds of things?” I ask.

“You know.” He makes an indecipherable gesture, frowning at me. “Wedding things?”

I feel myself tense. “If the purpose of my question has not yet been made evident to you, Kishimoto, allow me to be crystal clear now: I am asking you to be specific.”

He laughs at that. “Do you ever do anything anyone asks you to do without first asking a million questions?”

“No.”

“Right.” He laughs again. “Okay. Well, J is probably going to be getting her hair and makeup done for a little while, which means you can help us finish setting up in the backyard. But first, Winston has a surprise for you.”

“No, thank you.”

Kenji blinks. “What do you mean, no, thank you?”

“I don’t want any more surprises,” I say, my chest constricting at the very thought. “I can’t take any more surprises.”

“Listen, I can honestly understand what you might be feeling right now.” He sighs. “Your head is probably spinning. I tried to tell her—I told her it wasn’t a good idea to spring a wedding on a person, but whatever. She just does her own thing. Anyway, this is a good surprise, I promise. Plus, I can give you a little tour of your new place.”

It’s this last line that uproots me from where I stand.

There’s a short set of steps leading up to the house, and I take them slowly, my heart pounding nervously as I look around. There’s a sizable front porch with freshly painted beams and railings, a decent area to set up a table and chairs when the weather’s nice. The large windows flanking the front door are accented with what appear to be functioning, pale-sage-green shutters, the front door painted to match. Slowly, I push open this door—which has been left ajar— crossing the threshold now with even greater trepidation. The wood floor underfoot creaks as I step into the front hall, the clamor and commotion of the room coming to a sudden, eerie halt as I enter.

Everyone turns to look at me.

The drumbeat in my chest pounds harder, and I feel, for a moment, afloat in this sea of uncertainty. I’m lost for words, having never been prepared, in all my life, to deal with such a strange scenario.

I try to think, then, of what Ella would do.

“Thank you,” I say into the silence. “For everything.”

The crowd erupts into whoops and cheers at that, the tension gone in an instant. People shout congratulations into the din, and as my nerves begin to relax, I’m better able to make out their individual faces—some I recognize; others I don’t. Adam is the first to wave at me from a distant corner, and I notice then that he’s got his free arm wrapped around the waist of a young woman with blond hair.

Alia.

I remember her name. She’s a painfully quiet girl, one of the troupe who collected Ella earlier—and one of Winston’s friends. Today she seems unusually bright and happy.

So does Adam.

I nod at him in response, and he smiles before turning away to whisper something in Alia’s ear. James appears then, almost out of nowhere, tapping Adam on the arm aggressively, after which the three of them engage in a brief, quiet discussion that ends with Alia nodding fervently. She kisses Adam on the cheek before disappearing into a room just down the hall, and I stare at the door of this room long after she’s closed it.

Ella must be in there.

For what feels like a dangerously long time I feel paralyzed in place, studying the imperfect walls and windows of a home that is mine, that will be mine today, tonight, tomorrow.

I can’t believe it.

I could kiss its rotting floor.

“Follow me,” Kenji says, his voice stirring me from my stupor. He leads me through the small house as if he’s walked these paths a hundred times—and I realize then that he has.

All these days he’s been working on this project. For Ella. For me.

I experience a sharp, distracting stab of guilt.

“Hello?” Kenji waves a hand in front of my face. “You want to see the kitchen, or no? I mean, I don’t really recommend it, because the kitchen probably needs the most work, but hey, it’s your house.”

“I don’t need to see the kitchen.”

“Great, then we’ll just get right to it. Winston first, then the backyard. Sound good? You never seem to have a problem working in a suit, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem for you today, either.”

I sigh. “I have no problem assisting with manual labor, Kishimoto. In fact, I would’ve been happy to do so earlier.”

“Great, well, that’s what we like to hear.” Kenji slaps me on the back, and I grit my teeth to keep from killing him.

“All right,” he says. “So, I’m not going to torture you with any more unknowns, because I don’t think you actually like surprises. I also think you’re probably the kind of guy who likes to be able to pre-visualize stuff—helps manage the anxiety of not knowing things—so I’m going to walk you through this step-by-step. Sound good?”

I come to a sudden stop, staring at Kenji like I’ve never seen him before. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“How did you know that I don’t like surprises?”

“Bro, you’re forgetting that I watched you have an actual panic attack.” He taps his head. “I know some things, okay?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Okay, well”—he clears his throat—“there’s also this doctor we’re working with now—one of the ladies leading the exit evaluations for the asylum residents—and she’s, like, crazy smart. She’s got all kinds of interesting things to say about these patients, and everything they’ve been through. Anyway, you should talk to her. We had a patient who was cleared—healthy, fine, totally normal—to be returned to their relatives, but this dude couldn’t get on a plane without having a major panic attack. The doctor was explaining to Sam that, for some people, getting on a plane is terrifying because they have to be able to trust the pilot to control the plane—and some people just can’t trust like that. They can’t cede control. Anyway, it made me think of you.”

I deeply loathe this comparison, and I tell him as much. “I am perfectly capable of getting on planes,” I point out.

“Yeah, I know, but—you know what I mean, right? Generally?”

“No.”

Kenji sighs. “I’m just saying that I think it probably helps you to know exactly what’s going to happen next. You like being in control. You don’t like not knowing things. You probably like to imagine things in your head before they happen.”

“You had a single conversation with a doctor and now you think you’re capable of psychoanalyzing me?”

“I’m not—” Kenji throws up his arms. “You know what, whatever. Let’s go. Winston’s waiting.”

“Wait.”

Kenji looks up at me, irritation written all over his features. “What?”

“There might be a small grain of truth in what you said. A very, very small grain.”

“I knew it,” he says, pointing at me. “I told her, too, I was like, wow, you should really talk to this one guy we know, he could use a lot of help working through some—”

“You didn’t.” A muscle jumps in my jaw. “Tell me you didn’t actually say that to her.”

“I did too say that to her. She was a smart lady, and I think she might have some really interesting things to say to you. She was talking about some of these inmates and the problems they were facing and I was like, oh my God, you could be describing Warner right now.”

“I see,” I say, and nod. “I should just kill you here, shouldn’t I? In my own house. On my wedding day. It could be your gift to me.”

“This, right here!” He throws out his arms. “This is a perfect example! You don’t know how to problem solve without resorting to murder! How do you not see this as an issue?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know, man, you really might want to consider—”

I take a sharp breath, staring up at the ceiling. “For the love of God, Kishimoto. Where is Winston, and what does he want with me?”

“Did someone say my name?” Winston pops his head out of a door in the corridor ahead. “Come on in. I’m all ready for you.”

I shoot Kenji a scathing look before retreating down the hall, peering into the new room with some concern. It appears to be some kind of a bedroom, though it’s in desperate need of work. And paint. Winston has set up what appears to be a small command center—a dingy folding table displaying an artfully arranged selection of ties, bow ties, cuff links, and socks. I stare at it, beginning to understand, but I’m distracted by a strange, pungent odor that only seems to strengthen the longer I stand here.

“What on earth is that smell?” I ask, frowning at the old wood paneling.

“Yeah,” Winston says, shrugging. “We don’t know. We think maybe there’s a dead rat in the wall. Or maybe a couple of dead rats.”

“What?” I look at him sharply.

“Or!” Kenji says brightly. “Or, it’s just mold!”

“A delightful alternative.”

“Okay.” Winston claps his hands together, beaming. “We can talk about the rats tomorrow. You ready to see your suit?”

“What suit?”

“Your wedding suit,” Winston says, staring at me now with a strange expression on his face. “You didn’t really think you were getting married today in the clothes you’re wearing, did you?”

“Not they aren’t nice clothes,” Kenji adds.

“To be fair.” I meet Winston’s eyes. “I haven’t been able to predict a single thing that was going to happen to me today. How was I supposed to know that you’d managed to salvage my wedding suit from the wreckage? No one told me.”

“We didn’t salvage it from the wreckage,” Winston says, laughing. “I made you a new one.”

This leaves me briefly speechless. I stare at Winston, then Kenji. “You made me a new suit? How? Why? When?”

“What do you mean?” Winston is still smiling. “We couldn’t let you get married without a proper suit.”

“But how did you find the time? You must’ve—”

“Been up all night?” Brendan ducks his head into the room, then steps fully inside. “Finishing most of the work by hand? Yes, Winston was up all night on your behalf. Hardly slept at all. Which is why it wasn’t very nice of you to be so rude to him this morning.”

I glance from Brendan to Winston to Kenji.

I have no idea what to say, and I’m just thinking of how to respond when Adam and James show up at the door, two sets of knuckles knocking a rapid staccato on the frame.

“Hi!” James says, abandoning the door and his brother to invade my personal space. “Did they tell you I’m the only kid allowed at the wedding?”

“No.”

“Well, I am. I’m the only kid allowed at the wedding. My friends are super jealous right now because they’re all stuck in class.”

“And was there any particular reason,” I ask carefully, “why they made an exception for you?”

James rolls his eyes and lunges at me, hugging me right around the middle in a show of unprecedented self-assurance that shocks me, briefly, into paralysis.

“Congratulations,” he says against my sweater. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

I have to remind myself that James is not only— biologically—my brother, but also a child, and undeserving of rejection. I pat him on the head in a single, wooden movement that startles a laugh out of Kenji, a gasp from Winston, stunned silence from Brendan, and slack-jawed astonishment from Adam.

I clear my throat, disengaging from James as gently as I can.

“Thank you,” I say to him.

“You’re welcome,” he says, beaming. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“I didn’t invi—”

“So!” Adam cuts me off, trying and failing now to fight a smile. “We, um, we just came by to check in with you on a couple of details.” He glances at James. “Right, buddy?”

James nods. “Right.”

“First of all: Did anyone talk to you about your vows? Do you want to go traditional, or do you plan on saying something—”

“He’s going traditional,” Kenji says, answering for me before I’ve had a chance to respond. “I already told Castle.” He turns to face me. “Castle is doing the ceremony, by the way—you know that, right?”

“No,” I say, staring at him. “I did not know that. But what makes you think I don’t want to write my own vows?”

He shrugs. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes to get up in front of a crowd and shoot from the heart. But I’m happy to be wrong,” he says. “If you want to write your own vows, stand in front of a ton of people—most of whom you hardly know—and tell Juliette her face reminds you of a sunrise, no problem. Castle is flexible.”

“I would rather impale myself on a pike.”

“Yeah.” Kenji grins. “That’s what I thought.”

Kenji turns away to ask Adam a question, something about ceremony logistics, and I study the back of his head, confused.

How? I want to ask. How did you know?

Winston unfolds a garment bag, hangs it on a nearby door, and unzips the length of it while Brendan unearths a box of shoes from a dingy closet.

Adam says, “Okay, I still have a few questions for Warner, but I need to confirm with Castle about the vows, so we’ll be right back—and I’ll find out about the music—”

And I feel as if I’ve stepped into a strange, alternate reality, into a world where I didn’t think I’d ever belong. I could never have anticipated that somehow, somewhere along this tumultuous path—

I’d acquired friends.