“Who is it?” Seb mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Some random Washington area code.”
“They can leave a message,” he says and burrows deeper under the covers.
“Huh?” B raises his head and looks around. When his gaze drops to Seb’s arm, he blinks sleepily and frowns. “What does your tat say?” He squints at the words. “Is that aTerminatorquote?”
“What?” I shriek, throwing myself onto B’s body and grabbing Seb’s arm.
“Um, ow,” Seb complains. “My arm doesn’t bend that way.”
“‘No fate but what we make’,” I say to myself, grinning. “ItisaTerminatorquote!”
Seb sighs and pushes up on his other arm so I can get a better look at the words. “Yes, it is.”
“Why do you have a quote from an eighties horror sci-fimovie on your arm?” Brantley asks, running his finger over the ink.
Seb rubs his eyes and then looks at us through his fingers. “Okay, one, that particular quote is fromTerminator 2, which came out in the nineties. And two, it’s stupid. It’s nothing.”
“Sebastian Conner, you have a quote from my favorite movie franchise on your arm. This,” I say, pointing between us, “is fate.”
Seb snickers. “You’re a complete realist, Fi. You don’t believe in fate.”
“Well, I do now!” And there are those butterflies again. “Please tell us why.”
“Fine, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
“I promise!” I say.
“I don’t,” B says with a chuckle, and I elbow him.
“I don’t remember my mom,” Seb starts. “She died in a car wreck when I was one and Marcus was almost five. I have a few pictures of her—she was so pretty. Her name was Sarah.”
“Her name was Sarah…Conner?” I ask.
“Yes, though she was born before the movies came out and our last name is spelled differently, so it was just a coincidence. But it didn’t keep her from loving them. My dad said she used to watchTerminatorone and two once a year—though I’m not sure how she’d feel about the newer ones.” He takes a deep breath. “And she named me Sebastian John Conner as a nod to the franchise.”
My eyes widen until I’m sure they might fall out of my head. “You’re the chosen one,” I whisper, and B bursts out laughing, shaking the entire bed.
Seb gives him a deadpan look. “Anyway, I got the tattoo in honor of my mom, but it’s also a quote that I try to live by, even if I’m not destined to save the world from evil AI robots. We make our own fate, you know? Everything is a choice.”
“That’s pretty deep,” B says. Seb shoves him with an eye roll.
“Everything’s a joke to you, Michaels.”
“You say that a lot, but not everything,” B says seriously. “Snakes are no joke. They’re nature’s supervillains.”
“You’re afraid of snakes?” I ask with an impish smile.
“Yeah,” he says glumly. “I always wanted to visit Australia, but it’s, like, the land of the scary snakes.”
“I don’t think that’s what they call it…” I say.
After that, the guys get up. Sebastian goes to make breakfast, and B grabs a towel and heads to the shower.
I get dressed and go outside for a walk. I’m standing in the yard, stretching my legs when I notice something white flapping against the cabin’s wood siding—a note. It’s secured to the building with a rusty knife. I tug the paper free and squint at it. The note is barely legible, but I manage to make out the chicken scratch.
Thanks for the show, Red. Next time, ditch the fuckboys.
