Page 4 of Fallen Saint

Chapter Three

Declan

"The sky is magenta."

"Uh-huh."

"Cows are from Pluto."

"I know," Pen says, pushing her potatoes around her plate with a little furrow between her brows.

"I know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried."

"Me too."

"All right," I growl, dropping my fork to my plate with a clatter. "That's it." I hook my foot around the bottom of her chair, hauling her across the floor toward mee.

That finally gets her attention.

She glances up at me, her green eyes wide and startled as the chair screeches across the porcelain tile. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find out why the fuck you're in your own little world over there." She's been distant and distracted since we pulled into the driveway two hours ago. Pen is never distant. She usually talks a goddamn mile a minute about everything under the sun after practice. I fucking love her rambling.

"I'm not."

"Really?" I arch a brow. "Then where is Jimmy Hoffa buried?"

Her lips pull down into a frown, her brow furrowing. "How should I know, Declan?"

"You just told me that you knew. You also told me that the sky is magenta and that cows are from Pluto."

"Did not," she mumbles, looking away from me.

"Yeah, you did. What's going on with you, Rebel?" I tuck hair behind her ears, refusing to let her hide behind it. The back of my hand skims her cheek, and I swear she leans into me. Or maybe that's just my fucking imagination, wishing like hell she'd lean into me, that she'd crawl into my lap and cuddle up against me, let me hold her. My arms fucking ache for her. "You've been quiet since we got here."

"Nothing is going on," she lies.

"Bullshit."

She huffs, an annoyed little sound that lets me know I'm pissing her off. She makes the same sound anytime I call her on her bullshit. It's cute as hell. And I never let her off the hook when she makes it because I know damn well it means she's full of shit. She couldn't lie her way out of trouble if her life depended on it.

"Talk to me, Pen," I murmur gently, tangling our fingers together. I want to pull her into my lap and demand that she tell me what's eating at her. Fuck, do I ever. But I don't want her running from me, and I'm seriously fucking worried she heard me in the bathroom today, moaning her name when I came all over my hand, and is disgusted. If that's the case…I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do. I can tolerate a lot, but losing her will fucking kill me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm quitting," she whispers.

"Quitting what?"

Her wide, watery eyes meet mine. "The band, Declan. I'm quitting the band."

Pain, infinite and immediate, roars through me like an avalanche.

She's leaving me.She heard me today, and she's fucking done with me.

Of all the ways I thought she'd break my fucking heart, this wasn't one of them.

No. Hell no.I'm not letting this happen.

"The hell you are," I growl.

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