Hey, everyone! Okay, I know I'm behind on It Isn't Over (story of my life. Lol), but inspiration struck and I needed to write this! Haha.
This is my second shot at doing a Sam/Quinn fanfic, so please let me know what you think. I'm really excited about the plot, so yay! =P
Prologue
The sun was starting to set and it had started to rain a little, making the air damp and chilly. People on the street hurried through the crowds, umbrellas up in anticipation and darting their gazes away from others, desperate to make it back home in time for dinner. Meanwhile, a blonde, athletic, six-foot tall male stumbled clumsily through the doors of a nondescript café bar, dragging a guitar case behind him.
"Sam! There you are!" the owner, in an old, flannel shirt and a Yankees baseball hat threw his dishtowel over his shoulder, leaning his elbows on the bar top he was tending, greeting the young man.
"Hey, Jack. Am I late? I left the office as soon as I could," the blonde headed straight to the makeshift stage on the far end of the room, dropping the messenger bag he was holding and pulling out his guitar, quickly strumming a few chords.
"You're right on time," Jack winked at him and motioned for him to set up.
He slung his guitar over his head and plucked a few strings, waiting for the crowd to roll in. It was a small café bar - quiet during the days and slightly chaotic at night, when the younger crowds came in to hear live music. He had discovered it late one night, while he was wandering the streets of the city, and had only entered because he heard a familiar country twang that reminded him of Nashville. Sure enough, Jack Bryant was from Georgia and just like that, friendship struck.
'It's been six years,' he thought to himself sadly. Six years since Sam Evans and his family moved from Lima, Ohio to Nashville, Tennessee. Six years since he up and left the New Directions. Six years since he's heard from anyone but Finn, Rachel, and the occasional phone call from Mike and Tina. He was doing well for himself, though. After graduating high school, Sam got accepted to a small university in New York City. He packed up his life one more time, worked and went to classes, and got his college degree. And now? His job as product manager at an advertising firm kept him busy and financially stable, but his guitar kept him sane – a fact he discovered after nearly quitting his job. It was six months in and he was ready to give up, when Rachel had called out of the blue with an invitation to her Broadway debut and for a split second, his mind flashbacked to the night she and Finn brought his beloved guitar back to him. 'You need the music,' she had said. After that small reminder, it was easy and now, Sam rushed to the Blue Ridge Café and Bar every Friday night after work, where he played several sets for Jack. And on Sunday mornings, after church, he taught a group of kids how to play guitar. It was nice that after all the packing, goodbyes, and leaving, music was the one thing he could hold on to.
Smiling to himself, Sam ran his fingers along the strings and a shot of nostalgia coursed through him. Without thinking, he launched into a slow, easy tune, his voice carrying across the room clearly and crisply. It was in moments like this, where he could lay his heart on the line and tonight, it was just him, the guitar, and the music.
Come home to me,
Come home to me,
Back into my arms,
Home where you belong.
Come home to me,
Come home to me,
If home is where you are,
Then home is way too far away…
Later that night, after the last few customers had trickled away, Sam stepped into the apartment he rented in Brooklyn, propping his guitar case against the wall and tossing his keys on the table. Holding his mail by the teeth, he shrugged his leather jacket off and clicked his answering machine to see if there were any messages.
"Hi, sweetie! It's me, mom. Just wondering how you're doing over there. I know we saw you last month, but do you still have enough lasagna in the freezer? If you don't, well, Jersey isn't too far from New York, you know. Call me soon, we miss you and we love you! Be safe, hon," Mrs. Evans' voice was comforting and Sam couldn't help but chuckle to himself, as he opened the freezer and saw the stacks of lasagna still waiting to be eaten.
Beep!
"Hi, Sammy! It's Stacy and Stevie! We miss you!" his younger siblings' voices filled his empty apartment and for a split second, Sam's insides churned. The Evans family had moved to New Jersey after Nashville and even though he was only a quick bus ride away, he never seemed to spend enough time with his brother and sister.
Slamming the refrigerator door shut, Sam took a long pull from the beer in his hand, before shuffling through his mail and listening to several useless voice messages – bill, bill, Lucas calling to ask for a ride, bill, catalog, Amber calling to ask for a last minute date, account statements, Jack asking for a longer set. They all seemed to mesh together, until his fingers found a heavy, thick envelope. Pushing the other papers aside, he traced the intricate detailing on the names.
Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson.
When Sam first moved to New York City, he didn't know anyone. Several months after starting college, he ran into Finn, an old McKinley High classmate and former fellow Glee club member. Although rivals in high school, Sam and Finn struck up an unexpected friendship and Rachel, their former Glee club leader, came along for the ride. Since then, the three attended Broadway parties and shows (for Rachel), football games (for Finn), and open mic nights (for Sam). Of course, Rachel and Finn had fallen back into their unfinished relationship from high school, but this time, it was different and here it was – their wedding invitation. 'Whoa,' Sam thought to himself, suddenly feeling very old. He brought the invitation over to his living room, turning it over and over in his hands, before prying it open, only half-realizing his answering machine was still going.
Beep!
"Hey, Sam, it's Mike. I know we haven't talked in a while, but I was just wondering if you got Rachel and Finn's wedding invite? I'm sure you did, since you're in New York with them," Sam nodded along with the message, knowing that Mike, who now lived in Boston, had more to say. "You do know it's back in Lima, right? And rumor has it that…well, that she's in Lima…I just thought I'd give you a heads up? Anyway, call me back, man," the line cut and Sam sat frozen, his hands still clutching the Hudson-Berry wedding invitation. Taking a quick glance at it, he read it once, twice, three times:
Lima, Ohio.
Where he stayed for a year. Where he found music. Where he made lifelong friends. And most of all, where he knew she was.
After six years, Sam Evans was coming home.