Hey, y'all! Okay, so here's the next chapter and I hope you like it – it's a little shorter, but it gets the job done. I actually quite like this chapter, the last part is actually one of my favorites. :)

Anyway, let me know what you think!

As always, I don't own Glee. Otherwise, Sam's guilty pleasure would've been Quinn. :P

Chapter 9: Breakaway

The sun shining through the flimsy curtains danced across Sam's back, shadows catching every dip and curve of his muscles. Quinn watched, mesmerized by the rise and fall of his shoulders from his breathing, trying desperately to figure out why she was letting her head win over her heart. She had woken up several minutes earlier and had curled against Sam's figure, feeling the heat of his body against hers. She had been blissful and happy, until the quiet and the reality of their situation set in.

Quinn was silently panicking.

It was one thing to fall into bed with Sam Evans, but it was a completely different thing to even think about falling in love with him. And yet somehow, some way, she recognized all the signs. The accelerated heartbeats, the way she instantly smiled around him, the way he made every single worry disappear with just one touch. She was hooked and it was terrifying. The fear had set into her bones sometime around 7 AM, when the first rays of sunlight trickled into her vision and she blinked, realizing he was wrapped in her bed sheets. A part of her wanted to keep things the way they were – neither here nor there. But there was a meeting looming in the back of her mind, a decision she had been grappling with ever since she had woken up.

Slowly and carefully, Quinn unfolded herself out of the sheets and tiptoed across her room quickly, reaching for her silk robe to wrap around her bare body. She stole a quick glance at Sam's sleeping figure, her eyes falling into a trance, without even realizing that he had already woken up.

"Morning," he grinned sleepily. Quinn blinked, a smile ghosting over her lips.

"Hey,"

"What are you doing over there? Get back in bed," Sam chuckled, patting the empty spot next to him.

Quinn shook her head, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. Letting out her breath, she hastily grabbed her towel and a pair of denim shorts. "We have a meeting at one," she said, wincing at how curt her voice sounded.

"So? It's only 9.30," Sam pointed out, his fingers tugging at his hair, which only caused the ends to stick out even more.

"So…I have to pack. And go over lines. And you should be in the studio," she reasoned, averting her eyes from Sam, as he scooted to the foot of the bed. She was distinctly aware that he was getting closer and closer to her – literally and figuratively.

"You're leaving tomorrow and I can head into the studio after that," he shrugged. "Want to tell me what's going on, Quinn?" Sam asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

She sighed, wondering what it was that made the sound of her name on his lips make her feel trapped and free at the same time. Stepping backwards, Quinn grabbed the door handle to her bathroom and forced herself to meet his gaze.

"I'll see you at Santana's," she whispered softly.

Sam tapped his fingers against his thigh, watching the numbers go up on the little screen in the elevator. Beside him, Mike was whispering something into Tina's ear that made her giggle, and beside Tina, stood Quinn. She was dressed in a striped blue dress, her fingers clutching the portfolio she held in her arms tightly, and her shoulders tensed. She stared straight ahead, her jaw set, completely oblivious to the little love-fest that was happening between her best friend and his manager.

Sam sucked in his breath, fighting back his urge to scream or shout or just…something.. After Quinn had retreated into the shower earlier that morning, he had been struck with the realization that none of them – not Quinn, Mike, Tina, or Santana – had ever thought what would happen if one of them got hurt. And as he had slipped silently out of Quinn's house, Sam realized that for the first time, he would probably be the victim.

"Well, here we go," Mike piped up, as the elevator doors parted. They walked towards Santana's glassed office with Quinn leading the way. There was a purpose in her stride, but the confident way she walked contrasted with the way she made herself small – as if she wanted to take up the least amount of space in the world as possible.

"It's my favorite Hollywood couple!" Santana squealed, clapping her hands together gleefully. "I'm glad you're here, but sit down first, because I've got to grab some things from my useless assistant," she rolled her eyes and flounced out of the room. Mike and Tina immediately settled themselves on the long couch, reaching for a bottle of water with a giggle, as their fingers touched. Sam held back a scoff, hesitating and watching to see where Quinn would sit. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she perched herself at the edge of the leather armchair, hands folded over one another on top of her portfolio. Letting out his breath, Sam sat himself across from her, trying to meet her gaze. If it had been anybody other than Quinn, he would've given up already – but it wasn't just anybody and he hadn't felt as…attached to just anybody before.

"Alright, you guys have been silent this whole time. Want to tell us what's going on?" Mike asked, his question cutting through the silence like a knife. Sam raised his eyebrows and snorted.

"I'm surprised you noticed," he mumbled.

"What?"

"He just meant…" Quinn started, but Sam turned his head to glare at her, anger bubbling inside him.

"He knows what I meant," he snapped. Quinn shrunk back at his tone, her gaze downcast.

The room fell silent again and Sam tried hard to bite back the snarky comment that sat at the tip of his tongue. It wasn't fair that Mike got to fall for Tina with no strings attached, it wasn't fair that Quinn was pulling away from him for no reason, and it wasn't fair that they were all gathered together to decide the next step in his life. Slowly, he felt like he was losing his grip on reality and it worried him – gone was the stable ground he used to stand on, replaced by shaky doubt.

"What happened between you guys?" Tina whispered softly, shaking her head. Quinn didn't meet her gaze and Sam looked away – he didn't need to see how disappointed his manager was in him.

They stayed like that for a while, avoiding each other, and Sam nearly jumped a mile when Santana strutted back into her office, a pile of tabloid magazines nestled in the crook of her arm. She dumped them on the coffee table and placed her hands on her hips, a satisfied look on her face.

"We did good," Santana grinned.

"You're on the cover of People magazine!" Tina screeched, reaching for the glossy tabloid. "Ooh, you guys look good! Quinn, we should definitely keep this in the hairstyles archive," she giggled, flipping through the magazine with wide eyes.

Quinn smiled weakly at Tina, before turning her attention to her publicist. "Here are the new headshots you wanted," she placed the portfolio on the coffee table delicately and Sam cocked his head, confused. Quinn was acting reserved, polite, and almost robotic. Her eyes were glassed over and completely out of it – he tried meeting her gaze, but she quickly avoided him.

"Thanks, hon," Santana grabbed the portfolio and arranged it on her office desk. "Alright, so I know we're here to discuss our little arrangement, so let me be the first to say – I think we should keep it up,"

"What?" Sam snapped, his voice louder than he intended it to be. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn shrink back in her seat, taken aback by his tone.

Santana took a deep breath, looking at both of them. There was intensity in her dark brown eyes, one of stubborn determination, and one that he recognized all too well. "Quinn will be gone for three months of filming. Sam's album isn't scheduled for release until early next year. The timing doesn't clash – Quinn will be back in LA well before the album launch and until then, Sam can do some traveling between here and Nashville. And it doesn't matter if they don't catch you together, because we can easily pass it off as Sam recording," Santana explained.

"Will he actually be recording?" Mike asked, fingers already hovered over his BlackBerry keyboard.

"Of course,"

Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. "Isn't that decision up to me? What if I don't want to record in Nashville?" he asked, despite the fact that he already knew which producers he would call up when he got there.

"Why wouldn't you want to? You're always talking about immersing yourself in the good ol' South – here's your chance," Mike pointed out.

"What about promo? Will's already negotiating with the show to get Quinn time off, but the film promo might clash with album promo. Or Sam's tour," Tina brought up, the page in her small notebook already half-filled with notes. Sam opened his mouth to make a remark about how Asian she was, but clamped his lips shut – there was a dull anger inside him that no amount of snarky comments could put out.

"I thought about that too, but the way I see it, they don't have to be at every single red carpet event together. Sundance, the home premiere, and TIFF are a must, just like the first concert date, Nashville show, and LA show will be. And if Sam can handle flying to Europe for a couple of days, then we have the international appeal covered," Santana explained quickly. "Does anybody have a problem with the plan?"

Sam's jaw hung in disbelief – it was literally as if his publicist had been taken over by aliens and had just assumed that they were going to keep up the whole charade for the next year of their lives. He turned to Mike, hoping for some sort of sympathy, but saw that his manager was in full work-mode, his head bent over his Blackberry like it held the answers to life.

"Sounds good to me. We can work it out with Will," Tina shrugged, getting to her feet. "Are we settled? Quinn, you've got a ton of packing to do before the flight,"

"I think we're pretty much set," Santana grinned happily. "You pretty people just have to act like you're in love and we'll kill this momentum – in a good way," she added, chuckling. She turned around to head back to her desk, while Mike clasped Tina's hand, ready to walk out of the office. Sam darted his gaze between his manager and his publicist, internally panicking at the situation. He hadn't expected the decision to be made so fast and more importantly; he didn't expect the decision to be made without any input from him or Quinn.

"Wait."

It came out softly, quietly, hesitantly. There was a quiver in her voice, a shake that was recognizable, but completely unheard of when it came to Quinn Fabray. She stood up, pressing her hands together tightly and cast her gaze downwards.

"Quinn?" Santana prodded.

The blonde took a deep breath and Sam fixed his eyes on her, silently willing her to look at him. 'She has to say something, anything. We couldn't have spent the night together and not have it mean anything – it meant everything, I know it did,' he thought to himself.

"I want to end it," she said.

Silence fell over the room and Tina stumbled slightly over her own feet, a squeal escaping her mouth, as she held on to Mike for support. Santana whipped her head around, her eyes wide in shock. "You want to what?!" she screeched.

"End it," Quinn replied, her voice shaky. "I don't know what you have to change or who you have to call, but I'm…I'm going to Nashville with a clean slate," she said primly, adjusting her handbag on her shoulder.

"Quinn, you can't…think of everything we have to do! You can't just decide that last-minute! Nobody's going to buy it, not when you've been looking so in love with Sam!" Santana cried, panicking. Sam winced at his publicist's outburst, but couldn't bring himself to look at Quinn. The minute she had made her decision, he had understood – she wanted it over, she always had, and she wasn't going to change it for anyone.

"They'll buy anything if you sell it hard enough," Quinn answered. "I'm sorry,"

Sam opened his mouth, desperate to let any combination of words roll of his tongue, but nothing came. Instead, he locked eyes with her – painful, heartbroken, teary, hazel eyes meeting perplexed green ones – before she turned to walk out of the office and towards the elevators.

"What are you doing?!" Mike cried, throwing his phone towards the couch, doing a double-take to check that it landed on the cushions safely. "Get your ass to Quinn's and knock some sense into her!"

"Clearly, you don't know Quinn Fabray," Sam snorted, his fingers lazily strumming the guitar in his lap. It was an hour after their meeting at Santana's and instead of sticking around to hear Santana rant about how ungrateful her clients were, Sam had opted to leave. He had a good half hour to himself in his studio, before Mike had barged in, eyes wild and shoulders tense, babbling about how everything was shot to hell.

"Sam, I'm serious," Mike said, his voice leveling. "Quinn can't just go to Nashville – we need a statement. They need an explanation,"

"Why do the media need an explanation about something that's supposed to be private?"

"We need to cancel events, Sam. Cancel flights. Satisfy your fan-bases," Mike explained. He heaved a big sigh, tugging at his hair. "I know you hate this side of the business. It's ruthless and shallow and I know you think it's pointless – but it's necessary. When we control what your image looks like out there, when we control what they print, we have the upper hand. We can spin it any way we want – positively," he added.

Sam stopped strumming his guitar and turned to look at Mike. He was disheveled and stressed, his hair messy, and Sam suddenly felt like apologizing.

"Look, I'll call Quinn, okay? But don't expect an answer," Sam warned, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to dial the familiar number. "She's stubborn,"

Mike nodded, scooting back on the couch to give him space. They waited together in silence for several long seconds, before Sam hung up the phone and shrugged. "Well, I guess that's it. Tina says Quinn really won't change her mind and getting you to talk to her was the last straw – I'm calling Santana," Mike said decisively, fixing the phone on speaker.

"Mike? Please tell me you have good news," the Latina's usually calm and commanding voice sounded worried over the phone.

"Hey, Lopez. I've got Sam with me. Look, we're going to have to leak the story," he explained. There was a pause and Sam cringed, waiting for Santana's attack.

"Alright," she sighed.

"What? You're not mad?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No. Quinn doesn't really change her mind and she won't this time – not about something like this. It was a good run, but I'll have someone draft up a release and we can leak it tonight. Her flight's at midnight, so she won't deal with paparazzi when she gets to the airport," Santana conceded.

"Thanks, Santana,"

"That's what I'm here for," she said, defeated. "I'm sorry about all this, Sammy,"

"It's not your fault,"

"Somehow…I'm sure there's a way it could be," she scoffed. "I'll talk to you boys soon,"

Mike hung up the phone and took a long look at Sam, trying to gauge his reaction. When he didn't get anything, he slapped a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "You never told me what you wanted to do," he pointed out.

"About the relationship?" Sam asked. "I wanted…" he trailed off, debating between confessing or keeping his mouth shut.

"You wanted to keep it going," Mike answered for him. "Don't lie to me, Evans," he chuckled. "I saw the way you looked at her,"

Sam hesitated, before letting out a groan of frustration. "I didn't want to keep dating her if it meant I'd have to pretend, Mike. I wanted to stop the PR side of it, but I wanted to keep her," he explained, his nose wrinkled in thought. "But this whole thing…it was just temporary for her. It always was,"

"You could still get her back, you know. Head to Nashville, do the big gesture,"

This time, it was Sam's turn to chuckle. "You're talking like my best friend – not my manager," he grinned, before shaking his head and focusing. "No, Quinn's…she had her own reasons to end it and she's always done what's expected of her and her career. And that's what she needs to do."

Quinn leaned back into her seat, taking a small sip of the complimentary orange juice they had placed on her tray. There was an empty seat next to her and across the aisle, Will was already falling asleep. They had been on the plane for exactly twenty minutes and when she peeked out the window, all she saw was the dark night – a blanket covering the city she loved so much, the city she was leaving behind for three months. Somewhere, underneath that dark blanket, Santana was probably cursing her blonde head, while Tina was trying desperately to calm her down. A part of Quinn felt sorry for all of them – that they had to be implicated by only several words that she decided to say. Her decision was met with a lot of outrage, she expected that. She also expected Sam to jump in to defend her or even to yell at her or just…anything. He had been quiet and holding back the entire time they were in Santana's office and Quinn knew why – he was busy trying to figure her out.

It was something she couldn't afford, she knew that now. Spending the night with Sam, wrapped up in his strong arms, had made her feel safe and protected. But when daylight came shining through the windows, Quinn felt trapped, bound by the decision she had made several months ago to even start the whole PR relationship in the first place. It was all well and good to pretend, but when it started to feel real – it started to feel scary. There was a reason Quinn didn't date actors or musicians or celebrities. They were all good at lying; they were all good at faking it hard enough that it seemed real. And sometime between falling asleep with Sam and waking up on her own, Quinn realized that the lines between Hollywood and reality were starting to blur.

"Please be informed that our in-flight Wireless Internet access is now available for passengers' use,"

The steward's voice interrupted her thoughts and Quinn automatically pulled out her laptop, powering it up quickly. She hated how connected she had to be, but given the decision she had just made – there was bound to be angry emails and backlash. Taking a peek at her phone as she waited for the laptop to start, she noticed several missed calls – three from Tina, two from Mike, seven from Santana, and one from Sam. Sighing softly to herself, Quinn turned her attention to her laptop screen, quickly opening up her mail and browser. She scrolled past junk mail and ticked off the important ones she'd re-read later, before taking a deep breath and typing in her name into her Google searchbar. She waited, watching the news results load one by one, feeling the tears spring to her eyes.

Fabray and Evans call it quits!

Quinn in Nashville, Sam in LA – switching sides and states!

Are actress-musician relationships destined to fail?

Sam Evans is singing a different tune – ladies, he's single!

Sam and Quinn – what went wrong?

She choked back a strangled cry and closed her laptop, putting everything away as quickly as she could. A part of her regretted ending things, but a bigger part knew it was the right thing to do. Either way, her heart still felt broken and as she curled up against the small airplane window, looking out at the dark sky, Quinn wished it had all gone differently.

She wished she had the chance to know Sam Evans.