Believe Me (Shatter Me, #6.5) (38)

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.”