Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

their soul.
I want to know his so well that it becomes my darkness, too.
“Anyway. I met your parents about a year before she passed, and when
she finally did, I went looking for my biological father, hoping he’d... I don’t
know, take me in, I guess.” He wraps another finger around mine, covering
the diamond. “Long story short, he wasn’t interested in a fourth kid. So, I fell
victim to the system, and found myself in a foster home in Boston. Sometime
after that, your father approached me on the street, and offered me a job.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, shifting. “I don’t need to go into all the
details of the beginning of my career, but the point is, I was starved for
attention when I met your parents. Your dad gave me a life of luxury, and for
a kid with quite literally nothing, the hero worship came easily. Your mom,
well. She gave me the affection I’d been lacking from my own, and I guess
the attraction kind of just spiraled from there.”
Tears burn my eyes at the cavalier way he addresses the way my mother
treated him, as if there was never anything inherently wrong with it. “She
abused you, Kal. They both did, stole an impressionable boy off the streets
and manipulated him into their little puppet.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“Kal,” I say, reaching out to cup his cheek. A tear slips out, rolling down
my face as I stare into his eyes. “You didn’t know any better. They were
supposed to teach you, and they taught you wrong.”
His eyes burn with unshed emotion, and he seems to look right through
me for a long time, processing my words. Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped
right into an accusation, but I could feel the apology building, feel the weight
of him thinking he ruined me crushing his soul, and I couldn’t take it.
“I don’t want you to apologize to me for the way you coped with what
life dealt you,” I say softly, “because I see nothing wrong with the way you
are. A little rough around the edges, and far from perfect, but...”
“Lucky,” he breathes, shaking his head again as if dislodging the range of
emotions. “I’m fucking lucky, if you coming back to me is any indication.”
He pulls me to the edge of the couch, palming the back of my head and
covering my mouth with his; our tongues dance to their familiar tune, frissons
of heat and bright light crackling in my core, passion and love sizzling in my
soul.
When we part, our breaths tumble heavily from our mouths, and he
smooths his thumb over my mouth.