Chapter 50
ALEJANDRA
The Climb - Miley Cyrus
Stupid, illogical, and irrational. Those were the words she kept repeating in her mind. There was no reason why she should be scared of calm, crystal-clear water. They weren’t even that far from shore, which meant she could probably touch the rocky floor if she stretched enough.
She scowled to herself. Since when did she think about touching the bottom? The farther she was from the reef or rocky shore, the better—it meant fewer chances of being smashed by waves. That had always been the rule. That had always been safe.
“Are you sure?” Callum asked, apprehension flickering in his gorgeous blue eyes. With the sunlight reflecting off the water, they looked even clearer, almost unreal.
Alejandra nodded, pressing her lips together as she hyped herself up mentally. Come on. You’ve done this your whole life.
“I can do it. It’s just water. I’ve been swimming since I was a kid. And I’m not scared of water, like this…” she trailed off, hearing herself ramble.
Callum chuckled next to her, low and warm. “You get way chattier when you’re nervous.”
A slight groan escaped her. “I shouldn’t be nervous.”
Callum reached for her chin, gently but firmly turning her face toward him, forcing her to stop right at the edge of the water and focus on his eyes. “You do that groan again, and I’m taking you right here.”
A smirk tugged at her lips despite everything. “Wetsuits are a bit… in the way.”
“I’ll rip it off you if it’s necessary,” he shot back, his dimple popping, making her stomach flip in the most inconvenient way possible. Then his expression softened. “But right now… are you sure you want to go in? I don’t want to pressure you.”
“The thing is,” she said solemnly, even as her heart thudded too fast in her chest, “I’m pressuring myself. And it’s not pressure—it’s stopping this nonsense. I love the water. The water loves me.” She exhaled sharply, like she was arguing with herself. “Stop it.”
She stretched out her hand toward him. “Will you come with me?”
Callum didn’t hesitate. He laced his fingers with hers.
“Always.”
She glanced back at the water.
“Remember, you’re in the hands of a pro swimmer,” he added lightly.
She snorted. “I think I can handle it.”
And then she stepped in.
The cold wrapped around her instantly, biting at the small patches of skin not protected by the thick wetsuit Rhiannon had lent her. For a second, it stole her breath, but then something else crept in. Something familiar.
Floating. Weightless. For a moment, it felt… right. Almost normal. But she knew better. She knew the panic would come.
“I need to put my head underwater,” she said suddenly, turning to him. “Could you hold my hands?”
Because that was when it always happened. In the dark, in the silence, when she closed her eyes and the memory took over, waking up in the middle of the night, choking on air, convinced she was still trapped beneath the surface, that crushing weight pressing down on her chest.
“I’ll be here, Alejandra.”
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her thundering heart. You’ve done this every day for thirty-three years. This is nothing.
Deep inhale. Deep exhale.
And before she could overthink it, she dunked underwater.
Cold. Immediate. Suffocating. Her eyes stayed shut, but it didn’t matter. The memory came anyway—sharp, vivid, merciless. The reef. The crack. The pressure. The helplessness.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
She kicked up and broke the surface, gasping. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. It felt like forever.
Callum was right there. Watching her. She saw it in his eyes—the concern, the tension, the way his body was already angled toward her like he was ready to grab her if needed.
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she clung to the paddleboard, burying her face into the rubber surface, and the sobs came.
He followed her lead, staying close but not crowding. His hand settled gently on her back, slow, steady, grounding.
That somehow made it worse.
Maybe that was why she preferred being alone when she broke down.
“It’s alright,” he murmured.
“No,” she snapped, lifting her head, eyes blazing. “It’s not fucking alright.”
Then she winced, shaking her head. “Sorry, it’s…” She dragged in another breath. “I close my eyes and it’s there. The memory. Like a fucking movie in high definition. I’m drowning again, and I—”
“It’s okay, cariad. One step at a time.”
“What if I can’t anymore?” Her voice cracked. “What if my career is over? What if I’m remembered as the surfer who was scared of the fucking ocean?” She let out a bitter laugh. “What a joke. Me cago en la puta.”
Callum studied her for a second, then said, almost casually, “Okay. So you want to give up? Hang up the board?”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes flashing.
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, catching it—the way he was pushing her, just enough. And damn him, it worked.
“I’m not giving up,” she shot back. “I’m just… scared.”
“From where I’m standing,” he said, resting his arms on the paddleboard beside her, “you’ve got two options. Keep crying and let it consume you—”
“Not an option.”
“Good girl,” he winked.
She rolled her eyes, but her grip on the board steadied.
“Or,” he continued, softer now, “you try. Even scared. You face whatever’s going on in that head of yours.
You’ve got a therapist. You’ve got me. I bet Sofia and Ilias would help you in a heartbeat.
You’ve got an amazing family back home. And you’ve got the ocean—” he gestured around them “—which takes a lot, yeah. But it gives back, too. It gave you a life you love, friends, opportunities, awards, medals, a job that takes you around the world chasing waves.”
Alejandra studied him for a long moment, squinting slightly. “You can’t be good-looking and wise. That’s illegal. You must have flaws.”
“I have plenty,” he smirked. “Like pretending I’m fine half the time while I’m dying inside. Which, by the way, almost led me straight into burnout.”
She huffed out a quiet laugh. “Alright.”
Then she looked back at the water.
“Okay. I want to try something. I’ll hold the paddleboard and do some breathing exercises. Don’t know how long it’ll take—”
“Whatever you need, cariad. Whatever you need.”
He leaned in and stole a kiss—salty, soft, grounding in a way nothing else had been all day. Her mind spun for a second, the panic loosening its grip just a fraction.
“I’m sure,” he murmured against her lips, “that if you do well, I can reward you with something you’ll really enjoy.”
Then he bit her lower lip lightly.
She huffed a laugh. “Sex incentives. You should’ve tried that earlier. That’s what’ll cure my mind.”
Callum laughed. “I should’ve known.”
She smiled—really smiled this time—before turning serious again.
You can do this.
When she submerged again, she focused on her breathing. Slow. Controlled. She pushed the memory away, replacing it with others—dives with Sofia, the beauty of the underwater world, the freedom, the silence she used to love.
For a few seconds, it worked.
Then the memory crept back in, sharp at the edges.
She resurfaced again.
“One step at a time, cariad,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her damp hair.
Alejandra nodded.
She leaned her head back, letting the sun warm her face, letting the salt dry on her skin.
She could do this. Not today, maybe not tomorrow—but she would.
With time. With patience. But that was the problem. She had never been patient.