Disclaimer: I own nothing

Chapter One: A Song To Sing

December 2011

Goodbye four leaf clovers

Hello gone awry

Don't cry the fight ain't over

Unless you let it pass you by

"Hey White Chocolate! Don't forget to lock up when you're finished here. Not much to steal in this dump, but you never know when some drunk off her ass cougar will get the stupid idea to break in here and try to hide out in a dressing room."

Sam Evans rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively towards his boss, not even bothering to look up from the tables he was wiping. "Jimmy, I've been working here for nearly five months now. I think I've got the routine covered. Now get your ass outta here before I decide to go get my shits and giggles elsewhere." He smirked to himself and moved onto the next table.

"I told ya kid ... I got other people who can do this. It was never part of the agreement."

"Are you gonna make me forcibly remove you from your own bar?" Sam looked up and rolled his eyes at the short, balding man standing near the front exit who was looking at him with just enough concern that he feared borderlined on pity. "Go home. You know I can clean this place better than any of the other morons you've got working here. Besides ..." He lowered his gaze back to the table briefly before shrugging his shoulders. "I need the money. And I'll give you twice the work for half the pay. So just let me have at it, all right?" He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair before he returned to scrubbing off a particularly sticky mustard stain on the table.

Jimmy nodded. "Ok kid. See ya tomorrow." He stepped out into the cool night air and turned to have one last look at the hardened young man who had become his golden ticket. During daylight, he would have guessed the kid to be younger than the eighteen years listed on his drivers license, but at night under the hazy glow of dusty spot lights he seemed much older. The circles beneath his eyes seemed darker and the lines creasing his forehead deeper. Fighting the churning feeling in his stomach that he always felt when he remembered that the kid was younger than his eldest son, Jimmy turned back towards the parking lot and slammed the door behind him. As he walked into the night he reminded himself that Stallionz was his only source of income right now, and that he had bills to pay too.

Hearing the sound of the door swinging shut caused Sam to breathe a sigh of relief. He could relax a little now that he was alone. Not that he didn't like Jimmy; it was pretty much the opposite, actually. His boss had always been good to Sam. He never gave him too much shit for being the youngest one working at the bar and, most importantly, he had never once laughed in Sam's face when he showed up those five months ago to beg for a chance to make more money than the Dairy Queen could ever offer. Instead, he had given him a job at a time when he probably couldn't afford to do to so. In the end, things had worked out in both of their favors, but he would always appreciate what Jimmy had done for him. Many people seemed to think he was sleazy, but that just came with the territory. Despite owning the only bar within a 50 mile radius to feature male strippers, Jimmy actually wasn't a bad person. He was just another guy doing what he had to do to feed his family in an economy that had went to shit.

Sam could relate.

Even so, he was always relieved when the end of the night came and he could finally be alone. He tried not to speak too much about his family situation, but Jimmy wasn't stupid. He never let on exactly how much of his story he knew, but in the minutes every night before he left, it was clear he didn't buy the "college kid working his way through school" story he had been told. Thus, Sam knew well enough to get the man out of the bar before he could sense that the hard exterior his prized dancer worked to maintain would crumble with just the right look. And if that happened? He could kiss his job goodbye, along with the house his family was just barely scraping together payments for.

It's not like Sam completely hated the job. The pay was better than any guy he went to school with could ever dream of, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't find it both amusing and sometimes flattering that most of the women who had frequented the bar lately had come to see him. He never stripped down past his trademark little red shorts (not yet anyway), but that seemed to be part of his appeal. He had been blessed the dirty blonde hair and flawless skin that made the older women want to mother him, and the pillow lips and piercing green eyes that made them want to take him to bed. It also didn't hurt that he had learned how to move his hips in a way that made even the boldest of the bar's patrons blush.

Sam snickered to himself as he wiped down the last dirty table the bar had to offer. Who would have thought that the geeky guy with the big mouth from a year and a half ago would have transformed into someone referred to as White Chocolate? Maybe if the circumstances surrounding his new found skeezy stardom had been different he would have appreciated it more. But as he rubbed the back of his neck, still sticky with a mixture of sweat and alcohol and glitter, he couldn't ignore the feeling of dirtiness that always came in the early morning hours he spent cleaning up after a show. Maybe his un-appreciation stemmed from the fact that his mother would be so ashamed if she found out ... Or that he was tired of lying to just about everyone he knew about why the Dairy Queen made him stay so late all the time.

But mostly, it was that despite the fact that he could rake in one hundred bucks, easily, from stripping on a good night ... Despite how many times the waitresses he worked with would try to get him to fuck them in the storage closet ... He was, at his core, simply a shy, dorky kid who was doing what he had to do to make sure that his family never again had to deal with all that had been thrown at them last year. The memories of hearing his mother cry herself to sleep or seeing how his father had aged ten years seemingly overnight was enough to make him swallow his pride and come back to work night after night. This life and the shame it brought him was never something he would have planned for himself, but it was the only life he had and there came a time when every boy had to man up and get the job done. Maybe the dirtiness was something that would wash away with time. Or maybe he'd simply become numb to it ... He wasn't sure which one he hoped for more.

"Ugh." Sam grunted as he lifted the bucket of soapy, dirty water he had used earlier to mop the floor and dumped it into the sink. The point of him offering his cleaning services to Jimmy was so that he could earn a little extra money and have some peace and quiet. However, more often than not, his thoughts turned to what was and what could have been and he left the bar feeling slightly more unhinged than he had when he arrived. The deal was that Sam would clean (though for significantly less money than what previous guy had earned), and in turn he was allowed to stash his guitar in the dressing room and use sound equipment to practice on stage after hours. There were many times were Sam could have kicked himself for not leaving the damn guitar at home and negotiating a higher wage, but he knew that without quiet nights alone with his music, he'd never make it to work anyway.

He chuckled slightly and shook his head at himself. Jesus. It was a good thing no one could read his mind, otherwise he'd be headed for a 72-hour hold at the nearest hospital for sure. It was a good thing he had a talent for looking upbeat.

With all of his cleaning finished, Sam headed towards the back of the building to the dressing room where his belongings sat in their own corner. As he fought back a yawn, he reached into the side pocket of his backpack and pulled out his phone. It was the cheapest thing you could imagine; most kids his brother and sister went to school with had nicer ones, but it was the one thing his mother had insisted on when he told them her was taking a job that required he work late nights ("to clean and prepare all the food for the next day ... This is the biggest DQ in the state of Kentucky, Ma!" is what he always told her when she questioned his hours). She said that it helped her sleep better at night knowing he had a way to call home in case he needed anything. He felt guilty for making his parents spend their hard earned money on the cheapest family plan available, but they insisted that it was cheaper than a landline for the house.

Whether or not that was true, he wasn't sure, but he chose to believe them anyway.

As he started to swing his backpack over his shoulder, Sam lazily opened his phone and glanced at the screen. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the name that popped up as a missed call. It had been over two months since they'd talked. The communication before then hadn't been all that productive, but it was a tie to his old world nonetheless.

He stared at the number for several moments before plopping down onto the worn couch next to his belongings, the lure of going home momentarily forgotten. For his sanity he knew that he should ignore the number and continue on his way, but he had always been a curious kid, sometimes even to a fault. He even had the scars to prove it ... But what could returning the call hurt, anyway?

Sam sighed at his own naive thoughts. There was plenty that could hurt, considering he was still in an admittedly fragile state, though things were getting better. Thoughts that had kept him up all night when he had first moved to Kentucky had gradually gotten less consuming, to the point where most nights he fell asleep within minutes of going to bed. However, he knew that he was an obsesser. He thought too much and felt too deeply - traits that had defined him for as long as he could remember, but that didn't necessarily make his life easy. This call ... From this person ... Had the great potential to royally mess with his head and screw up all the progress he had made.

He debated for several long minutes before finally grunting and pushing the redial button. Years of playing sports had not only instilled a fierce competitiveness within him, but a unwillingness to back down from a challenge, no matter how dumb it would be to accept.

Drumming his fingers against the arm of the couch, he counted rings.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi-.

"Sam? It's one o'clock. Is that really you?"

"Hey, Quinn..."

I'm looking for a song to sing

I'm looking for a friend to borrow

I'm looking for my radio

So I might find a heart to follow

I've never been just longing for your loving

I've never been just wearing down to nothing

I've never been just looking for a reason

So that maybe you'd be thinking of me

Author's Note: If anyone is reading this, thanks! I hope you enjoyed it! This is my own little way of getting through the hiatus. :) Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

In the story, each chapter will be a song title. Depending on whether the song's influence is slight or very strong, lyrics will either be at the beginning and end of the chapter, or mixed in throughout. The song used in this chapter was "A Song To Sing" by Hanson, mostly to set the tone of Sam's life.