Chapter 10

Look who updated within a week! Woohoo! Go me! I just want you all to know that since I am a serious author and am dedicated to the factual accuracy of my work, I felt that it was my duty to see Magic Mike so that I could write a truthful, hard hitting portrayal of life as a male stripper. It was grueling work, but I feel like putting the time into my research will really show in my writing. So ya'll can thank me for my hard work, I did this for you ;)

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Stevie was being a monster.

He and Stacy had both been so excited the last couple days. They had helped their mother pack their clothing and what few toys they had left into cardboard boxes, bubbling over the entire time with questions about what Kentucky would be like, where they would go to school, what their new house looked like, and what Daddy would be doing for work. Stacy was just as enthusiastic as she had been three days ago when they first got the news. But in the last twenty-four hours, Stevie had grown cold and sullen, giving one word answers whenever he was asked a question and refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

And then there was today's episode.

Sam and his father had tugged the last of the bungee cords tight over the pickup's bed, securing their boxes in place for the four hour ride ahead of them. There wasn't enough room in the cabin of the pickup for all of them to sit comfortably, but they had no other option, so Stacy would sit on their mom's lap on the middle of the bench, and Stevie would sit on Sam's. Sam had just pulled the seatbelt across his mother and sister's waists and buckled them in when Stevie started to fidget and panic, tugging at Sam's sleeve for attention.

"What's up buddy?" Sam asked, seeing the nervousness playing in his brother's face.

"I forgot my favorite pair of socks, and now I can't find them!" he whined, his voice nearing a sob.

"Your favorite socks?"

As far as Sam could recall, they all had the same socks. White, bargain-brand cotton socks that came in packs of six. He didn't remember Stevie having a special pair, but his kid brother was insistent.

"We can get you a new pair of socks in Kentucky when we get there, ok?"

"Nooooo!" Stevie wailed, "Please Sammy, you have to help me look! They were my favorite!"

Sam's brow furrowed and he bit the corner of his lip. It didn't seem like Stevie was going to let this go, and the last thing he wanted was his ten-year-old brother sitting on his lap for four hours if he was going to be miserable for the whole ride. His dad was hopping up behind the wheel, and although he was wearing a brave, smiling face, Sam knew he was anxious to get on the road and have this whole thing over with. Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Dad, Stevie forgot something in the room, I'm just gonna go help him look for it. We'll be back in a second. Is that ok?"

The lines around his dad's mouth tightened a bit, but he nodded. "Sure, go ahead. Just hurry up, ok?"

Sam nodded quickly and put a hand on Stevie's shoulder, leading him back into the motel.

The motel room where Sam and his family had lived for seven months had become something like a home to him, but now, without their clothes hanging over the backs of chairs and doors, without a pot of rice cooking on the hot plate, and without the smell of baby shampoo coming from the bathroom, the room looked like exactly what it was—a cheap, dirty hole for drunks, hookers, and the homeless. He wouldn't miss this place, but at the same time, he didn't want to forget his year in Ohio. He could always run through the "what ifs" and be bitter that his parents made them leave Tennessee in the first place, but the truth was, if they hadn't moved, he would have never met so many wonderful friends.

There wasn't exactly a lot of space in the room to lose a pair of socks, and Sam didn't see them laying anywhere on the floor, so he got down on his hands and knees to search under the bed while Stevie rooted around in the empty closet. He thought he saw a lumpy shape under the bed, but when he stretched his fingers, he couldn't quite reach it. Laying down on his stomach, he pressed himself flat and wriggled until his shoulders slid under the bed frame.

"I think I may have found your socks kiddo," Sam called, but he didn't hear a response from Stevie. The kid was probably in the bathroom searching for his damn socks in the toilet.

He stretched himself a bit further, and when he reached as far as he could, he could just about brush fabric with his fingertips. Every time he inhaled, his lungs filled with thick dust, and he was sure the front of his shirt and his jeans were covered in the same substance. His mom would be seriously pissed, and all for these socks. They better be a pair of awesome Superman socks or something, Sam thought irritably.

Shoving his hand out an inch further, his fingers closed around the ball of cotton, and he struggled to free himself from the bed frame pressed tight across his shoulder blades. When he finally army crawled his way back out from beneath the bed, he raised up onto his hands and knees and pushed himself off the floor. When he looked down, his entire chest was covered in a layer of gray grime.

Dusting himself off, he looked around for his kid brother.

"Stevie?" he called, sticking his head through the open bathroom door. No one there. He tried the closet, but Stevie wasn't there either. The motel room may have been big enough to lose a pair of socks, but it definitely wasn't big enough to lose a ten-year-old kid.

Sam walked to the door and glanced out to where the truck was parked with the rest of his family in it. His dad was still behind the wheel, chatting to his mom and sister who were still buckled in where he left them, but Stevie wasn't with them. Sam felt the panic rising in his chest. Where could he have possibly gotten to in a couple minutes? He scanned the parking lot and the two-way highway it let out onto, but there was no trace of his brother. Sam finally thought to open his hand and look at this damn pair of socks that was causing so much grief.

In his hand were a gross pair of panties that were most definitely not his mom's or his sister's, and down the street about five blocks, a blond flash was sprinting away at top speed.

Sam's heart caught in his throat. He dropped the panties onto the gravel parking lot and took off after his brother. He sprinted as hard as he could, his arms and legs pumping harder out of a sense of desperation than they ever could on a football field. He chased Stevie around corners and around trees, gaining a few steps every time Stevie slowed or caught his foot on a root growing out from the cracking sidewalk. By the time Stevie reached the park where Sam often took them to play after school, his brother, with much longer legs and a running back's speed, had caught up to him.

When Sam was within a step of him, he threw an arm out and caught Stevie around the waist. He wrapped both arms around him and held him tight as he fought to escape. Both of them were panting hard, but Stevie was like a wild animal, kicking out in all directions and flailing with his arms.

"What are you doing?" Sam shouted at him.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Stevie wailed, kicking back and clipping Sam in the shins a few times.

"Stop it Stevie! What the hell?"

When the burst of demonic energy possessing his brother finally dwindled, Sam set him back down on his feet and spun him to face him, gripping him tightly by the upper arms.

"What are you doing? Why the hell would you do that?" Sam shouted, trying not to shake his brother. "I thought someone kidnapped you while I was looking for your stupid socks!"

"I don't wanna go!" Stevie wailed, his face reddening and the tears welling in his eyes.

"What are you talking about? We have to go Stevie."

"Well I don't wanna! I'm tired of moving, I'm tired of new schools and stupid new kids. I wanna stay here. I don't wanna go!"

By now, he was crying so hard that his face was bright red and starved for air, and he was choking and hiccupping on snot. He was kicking at Sam's shins again and slamming tiny fists against his chest, but at least he wasn't trying to escape.

"Stevie, stop it! We have to move. Dad got a new job. You don't wanna be homeless still do you? Don't kids make fun of you like they made fun of me? Mom and Dad are trying really hard to make things better for us, Stevie, don't you see that? Stop making it so hard for them. Stop being such a baby!"

Stevie whimpered and tried to catch his breath through his sobs. Through the entire fit, his eyes had been pressed shut with tears, but he managed to open them now. They were blue-green like Sam's and wide with childish fear. His tears made him look even younger than ten, and Sam knew he couldn't stay mad at him much longer.

Softening, he lowered himself to one knee in front of his brother so that their eyes were on the same level.

"Stevie, look, I know it sucks. I'm really sad we're leaving too. And I know it's really hard making new friends all the time, but you're popular right? Everybody likes you?"

Stevie sniffled and nodded.

"So really it'll just be a cool new experience. Everybody in Kentucky will like you just like they liked you here and just like they did in Tennessee. When you're cute like us, making friends is super easy," Sam grinned, wishing he believed everything he was telling his brother.

"And you heard Mom and Dad. We get to live in a cool house and you and me are gonna share a room again. Isn't that gonna be awesome?"

He ruffled Stevie's hair, and that brought a little smile to his face.

"It'll be ok kiddo, we'll look out for each other, ok? I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"S'ok Sammy," Stevie sniffed, using his fists to dry his eyes.

Sam hugged him then stood back up, taking him by the hand and leading him back towards the motel. When they finally got back, his dad was out of the car, his hands on his hips, pacing a few steps alongside the truck. He looked up when he saw his sons, and Sam could tell that he was irritated. But when he saw Stevie's red eyes and tear stained face, his anger immediately turned into concern.

"Is he ok?" he asked Sam. "What's wrong?"

Sam nodded silently, and his dad caught the hint, letting his question drop unanswered.

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Just as he was packing Stevie into the cabin of the truck, a familiar silver Honda sped into the lot and roared to a halt on the gravel. The driver's door flew open, and Quinn shot out, her choppy blonde hair flying in all directions, sticking to her lip gloss. Her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, and one of the straps of her sundress was slipping down over her shoulder. Sam's eyes shot to his father, sheepish.

"Dad," he paused, looking down, "Can I?"

"Of course son, go ahead," he said, without a hint of annoyance this time.

Sam squeezed himself from the overcrowded truck, almost tripping himself on the running board. He wanted to run into Quinn's arms, to scoop her up, to kiss her and never let her go, but the last time he had spoken to her was a few nights ago on the porch, when she had stalked off like she never wanted to see him again. He was actually shocked that she was standing here right now. He approached her cautiously, hoping that she hadn't come back to curse him out some more. When he reached her, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied his feet, rolling a few pieces of gravel around in the dust.

"You came," he muttered.

"Yeah," she answered, breathing in deeply through her nose, trying to calm her pounding heart. "I didn't think I was gonna make it over here before you left."

"I didn't think you wanted to see me," he said, trying to keep his voice strong so that she wouldn't hear the whimper threatening to break through.

"Yeah, Sam, about that," Quinn started, looking down, examining her nails and pressing at a broken cuticle. She was searching, struggling. "I, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I should have never lashed out at you like that. It's not your fault. None of it is. I just, I don't know, it's all this stuff with Beth, and I thought . . . " She paused to stare up through her eyelashes, either searching for God or willing the tears not to form, Sam couldn't tell. "It's just, I mean, you're so good with Stevie and Stacy . . . you're so great with kids, ya know? I just thought, like, maybe you and me could spend some time with Beth, ya know? Now that she's home and all. I don't know, Sam, I'm sorry, I just thought we could really do this thing together."

Sam tried to picture it. From the picture Quinn showed him of Beth, her baby was as perfect as she was. Everything would be just like it was now, except maybe every other week on a Saturday, Quinn would get to see her daughter. The two of them could push Beth around the park in her stroller, or maybe even put those little orange floaties on her arms and a floppy hat on her head and wade her through the shallow end of Quinn's pool. Sam was in no position to raise a kid, but he knew all about changing diapers and feeding them mushy carrots and playing peek-a-boo. He didn't have a powerhouse voice like Mercedes or Rachel, but he had found over the years that his voice was perfect for lulling babies to sleep. And he actually enjoyed them. He might have liked helping Quinn with her baby. It might have been really nice and brought him and Quinn that much closer, but it wasn't meant to be.

"That would have been nice Quinn," he said softly, the regret clear in his voice as he let his hands run along the length of smooth skin from her shoulders to her elbows. He could apologize. He could offer to help her with Beth when he came back to visit. But it wouldn't matter. Their lives would be different from here on out.

"Quinn, um, you're not . . . You're not my girlfriend anymore, are you," it wasn't really a question, because Sam knew the answer. It was a stupid question anyway. How could they possibly make it work? How could they stay a couple when they would live four hours apart and there was no hope of ever being in the same place again? He didn't have a computer to Skype her. He didn't even have a cell phone to call her. No, it was impossible.

"Oh, Sam." Quinn looked sad. Sad like she was being forced to do something that was too heavy a load for her to bear. Sympathetic was the right word. Sad like she was being forced to break his heart. "Sam, you know we can't. How could we?"

"I know. Honest, Quinn, I know. I just wanted to hear it from you. I wanted to know for sure that this is how you wanted it to be."

"Sam, I don't want it to be like this. You know I don't. We just, we can't."

"I know."

A long silence passed between them. Sam's eyes darted up from the ground to finally meet Quinn's, and there was a desperation in them like he had never felt before.

"Quinn, I, I should tell you . . . Quinn, I think I—"

"Please don't," she cut him off, "Please? It'll just make it worse."

"Ok." He lowered his eyes. "You'll call sometimes?"

"Of course I'll call."

Sam nodded slowly, looking away to try to hide the pain in his eyes. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But he was glad she came. He was glad it was going to be over like this, with a kiss and a conversation, rather than with her hating him for something he couldn't control. He leaned down to wrap both arms around her waist and pull her close. Quinn's face settled into his chest, and he nestled his down into her hair. He inhaled deeply. She smelled like honey and fresh cream and summer. When she pulled back to look up at him, he could see that a few tears were brimming on her lashes.

Quinn's fingers snaked up his spine and tangled in the short blond fuzz at the nape of his neck. He looked down at her, and their eyes locked, her moist cherry lips parting slightly to capture a breath. Sam leaned down and closed his eyes, touching his lips to hers ever so gently. Quinn raised herself onto her toes and pressed up into him. Her lower lip slid between his and he savored it, sucking it slowly and running his tongue along the stretch of tender flesh. He could feel her tongue sliding against his, entering his mouth, and he could feel the small buds of her nipples stiffening against his chest. If things were different, he would lift her into his arms, her cotton panties rubbing against denim jeans as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He would lower her onto her back on the veranda where they had spent so many nights kissing and cuddling, sharing secrets and reconnecting. And he would make love to her at the stroke of midnight, with the light of the stars and the fireflies twinkling in their eyes.

But things weren't different, so he pulled back, breaking their kiss before any of those thoughts could sink in, and helped her into her car.

Minutes later, after Quinn had left and he and his family had set off on the road to their new home, with his little brother buckled to his lap and his mom and sister at his side, sleep was the only thing that could save Sam from heartbreak.

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Sam had been dozing on and off for the majority of the trip, his forehead pressed against the steaming glass while the highway breeze rushed through the open window overhead. It wasn't a deep sleep, and he could still vaguely hear the conversations going on around him, although he wasn't coherent enough to make sense of any of them. He woke up when they made pit stops for bathroom breaks and when they stopped to eat the sandwiches his mom had packed from home. Home. Sam pondered at the fact that he was now referring to a motel room as home and wondered how long that would last once they were in Kentucky.

He had picked at the sandwich, which was really just two slices of white bread and a slice of ham, and wondered if maybe they would be able to eat a little bit better once his dad had a job. He wasn't complaining—really he was just glad that most nights they had food at all—but being hungry was the hardest part. And seeing his brother and sister hungry. He was old enough that he could press his lips tightly shut and ignore the pangs in his stomach. But his brother and sister were just kids, and their response was to complain loudly whenever it hurt. They didn't quite understand that they weren't being punished, that there just wasn't food to give them. So whenever they complained, Sam always quietly gave them whatever he had for himself, rather than see his mom cry, which hurt way worse than his empty stomach.

Sam had always been the picky eater and the health food nut, snubbing his nose when Finn scarfed down three sloppy joes for lunch every day in the school cafeteria. But towards the end, Sam would inhale food wherever and whenever he could find it. At Nationals, he had eaten a bag of Doritos so fast that he had barely tasted them. Finn had poked him in the stomach and jokingly asked him if he was gonna have to fast for a few days or run an extra mile to make up for it. Only when Rachel gave him the death glare did Finn realize what was happening. After that, he apologized profusely and kept trying to sneakily buy him food whenever they were out. Except Finn couldn't do anything sneakily, and Sam had been embarrassed and hurt.

Things were better when he was working at the pizza joint. Most nights, he could steal home a box or a half box of that night's stale leftovers. The owner had caught him one night but had been gracious. "Go ahead, Sam," he had said, noticing the gauntness in his face, "Better than it going to waste." The pizza wasn't nearly enough, but it was more than they had, and for that he was forever grateful to his boss.

With Ohio and the rest of his life there three hours behind them, Sam was beginning to look forward to the good things waiting for him in Kentucky. Food, for one. He would definitely be looking forward to eating something other than a slice or two of cold, congealed pizza every day. And they would have a house to live in. That would be cool. His parents kept warning them that it was small, so he figured there was going to be a lot of tripping over each other's toes, but it couldn't possibly be worse than the motel. And he would have a bedroom again! Sure, he had to share it, and the queen size bed it came with, with his kid brother, but that wasn't so bad. Stevie didn't take up that much space, and he didn't snore or anything. Any expectation Sam had had of personal space had gone out the window months ago when four people got stuffed in the same bed and he was about six feet away on the floor. He tried to keep those thoughts in mind, the thoughts of the good things, and use them to block out all the worry about the bad things. Like being the new kid at school. Again.

His mom nudged him from his half sleep when they were nearing the town they'd be moving to. Georgetown, the signs said. Sam moved his chin to his brother's shoulder to glance over him at the pickup's clock. It only took four hours, and they had stopped a couple times to use the bathroom and to eat. So really more like three and a half hours, or three twenty if you were moving pretty good. I could see Quinn a couple weekends, really, it doesn't take long to get there . . .

Sam forced himself to stop. This was his new life now.

"We'll be living out in the sticks a bit next week when we get to move into the house," his dad explained, "But for now, until the lease starts, we're just gonna stay at a motel right in town, ok guys? It'll give us all a good chance to get used to the city."

They all nodded, eyes scanning their new surroundings. It wasn't much of a city, truth be told. They were weaving the pickup down a grimy strip, double parked and festering with people sweating in the summer heat. Supposedly Georgetown had a quaint, historic Main Street, his dad told them, but this wasn't it. They were on an outer ring of town, commercial, with more cars than pedestrians. It was clear people didn't stay here long. There were a couple fast food joints, some car dealerships, a ton of cheap motels, and a strip joint with flashing XXX signs in the blackened windows. This was clearly the kind of place people came to get what they needed and left.

When they pulled into the motel, his mom and brother and sister bounced out of the car and started unloading the boxes from the bed of the truck. Most of them would stay packed, but his dad thought it unwise to leave their few earthly possessions out in the open in a motel parking lot. When Sam went to grab a box, his dad touched his elbow and held him back.

"Sam," he started, running a hand through his greying blond hair, "I was hoping I could ask you for a favor buddy."

Sam's brows creased. His dad had that guilty look. That guilty look that Sam hated, like he was asking him to do something he hated.

"Sure dad, what's up?"

"Sam, I, I know we just got out of the bad times, and everything is gonna be better, I promise. It would just . . ." he let out a long, heavy sigh, "It would help out so much if you still worked. My job is gonna pay the rent, I promise, you don't have to worry this time that we'll be losing a home. And you won't be hungry, Sam, I swear it. But there just won't be money left for anything else. Bills and anything extra we might need, things like that. I'm so sorry, Sam, it hurts me so much to ask you. I know you kept us of the streets. Please don't think I didn't notice that."

"Dad, it's totally ok. Honest. Everybody my age works anyway," he lied, smiling. "I thought I saw a couple fast food joints on this street, I'm sure they'll take me. So, um, how many hours do you need me to work? If I go right after school I can get like 35 hours a week in. I . . . I can go to school . . . right?"

"Oh, no, no. Of course I want you to go to school. It's not gonna be like that. I want you to play football, buddy, or sing, or do whatever makes you happy. You need to do some things for yourself. Maybe three or four hours a night? Does that sound ok?"

"Yeah dad, no problem. I'll start looking first thing tomorrow."