Sing for Their Supper - 3

"Have you tried getting a job?" Tuck asked.

"Tried? Sure. First I was too young. Then… Well, look at me. I'm not exactly dressed for success. I can't even get a job as a dishwasher."

Tuck had to admit Sam had a point. The well-worn jeans with holes in the knees and ragged cuffs, the tired-looking sweatshirt, the dark hair—which was in definite need of cutting—would not impress any perspective employer. He would have said as much if Sam hadn't already beaten him to it. "You don't have anything else you can… Never mind. If you did, you'd have worn it."

"No shit. That's it." Sam pointed to a building in the middle of the block ahead of them.

Tuck pulled up in front to let him out, asking, "Do you want me to wait? In case they don't have a spot for you?"

"Why? You gonna drive me all over town to try other places?" Sam immediately apologized. "I'm good. If they don't, I know a couple of spots around here where I'll be okay. Thanks for the ride. I mean it."

"You're welcome."

Sam got out, grabbed his backpack and guitar case, then hurried inside. Tuck was tempted to wait, anyway, before deciding against it. He had the feeling that if Sam couldn't get a bed, the kid would check to be certain he wasn't there before leaving.

*****

  

"I may have met our first cast member," Tuck said as he sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.

"Is that why you're late?" Brent asked.

"Yeah. Remember the singer I told you about? The one who hangs out downtown?"

Brent frowned for a second before nodding. "How did you happen to run into him at this hour of the night?"

"I was on my way home and saw a kid I thought was him going down a cut-through between two vacant buildings. I'd have kept going, but there were a couple of punks who saw him, too. They went after him—"

"So you had to do your civic duty and go to his defense." Brent patted Tuck's leg. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know me?" Tuck bent to give him a kiss before continuing. "I got there seconds before the cops came down the alley, probably looking for kids to roust. Anyway, they stepped in so I didn't have to do anything other than watch the punks hightail it. Before the cops left, one of them told the kid—his name is Sam—to go to a shelter, so I offered to drive him."

"Did you talk to him about our idea?"

"No. He was sort of leery about the whole 'give him a ride thing', and what I might want in return, so I figured I'd better wait until I see him again."

"Makes sense." Brent squeezed Tuck's thigh. "How did the fundraiser go?"

"God save me from middle-aged matrons," Tuck grumbled. "I'd have gotten out of there a lot sooner if I hadn't had to schmooze them for Mac's sake. But I think we made enough money for the animal shelter to build the new cat room." He got up to finish undressing then headed to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth before coming back to slip into bed next to Brent. "I should have asked first thing. How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that I've quit puking up everything I've eaten for the last week."

"Poor baby." Tuck hugged him gently. "Go back to sleep. By morning you'll feel like a new man."

Brent smiled. "An empty one, but yeah. Love you."

"Love you, too."