Believe Me (Shatter Me, #6.5) (39)

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.