Chapter 57
CALLUM
Tarantola - Bresh
Alejandra had found a flight out of Gatwick, two days after Calan Mai, not because she wanted to leave Aberystwyth, but because her doctor would be on vacation the following week due to something called Feria de Abril.
He really had no idea what it was, but Alejandra had bribed him with the promise of wearing a very second-skin, boob-showing dress traditional of her culture.
He would have gone even without the dress—he would have followed her anywhere—and she had promised his mother that they would come back soon, as soon as her shoulder had been cleared.
They had arrived quite early, so they were both slumping on some uncomfortable airport chairs in front of their gate—Alejandra reading one of her smut books on her Kindle, completely absorbed, and him spiraling about his father.
He had given up and Googled him the moment they had arrived.
The guy he had met in Ericeira smiled at him from the research images.
Mick Turner was indeed a surf legend. Articles, old competition footage, interviews, even a few grainy photos from the early 2000s.
A name that meant something to people. A name that apparently meant nothing to him.
There were moments in which he was sure he didn't want anything to do with him, but then others in which the doubt crept in.
What if they could put the past aside and bond like father and son?
But then, reality slapped him in the face.
That fantasy was destroyed by the memory of Mick running away from him, in pure panic.
That man had decided it was best to pay money monthly rather than spend time meeting him, his son.
Possibly only son? He had no idea. There was no mention anywhere of another family, no interviews hinting at children, nothing.
Just a ghost of a man who had existed loudly in the public eye and silently in his life.
“I can see you spiraling,” Alejandra said, glancing at him as her e-reader went dark in her hands. “Do you want to talk about him?”
“You definitely know him more than me.”
Alejandra shrugged, tucking one leg under her on the chair.
“I’ve been in the circuit since I was eleven.
He was at the peak of his career back then, somebody we all looked up to.
The kind of name you’d hear whispered like it meant something.
Like it was the ultimate achievement.” She paused, fingers brushing the edge of her e-reader.
“I preferred female athletes as my inspiration, but I had the chance to learn from Mick. A few camps, a few shared waves. And he always had a kind word for us kids.”
Callum scoffed under his breath, his gaze still fixed on the picture of a younger Mick—sun-bleached hair, easy smile, confidence dripping from him.
“Then why did he never want to meet me?” he asked quietly.
Alejandra took a deep breath. He could see her thinking, weighing her words carefully, her gaze drifting for a moment to the massive windows where planes taxied under the hazy light.
“I thought about it since you told me,” she admitted.
“And what’s the conclusion?”
She bit down on her lower lip, hesitating.
“Athletes…” she started slowly, “we are selfish. Very. Extremely selfish.” A small, almost bitter smile. “Was what he did to your mother right?” She shook her head immediately. “Absolutely not. And not what he did to you either. But I can…understand the mechanism behind it.”
Her hand found his, fingers sliding between his, grounding him.
“He was young, probably obsessed with being the best of his generation. And there’s this belief—old, outdated, but still there—that family can get in the way.
That feelings slow you down. That attachment cost you medals.
” She exhaled softly. “I think he convinced himself that the money was enough. That he was…providing. Without having to be present.”
Callum glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “Mmmh. You feel you’ve been like Mick Turner a bit?”
A slight scowl crossed her face, but it softened into a sigh.
“We are selfish beings,” she admitted. “You must know. You were one too.”
“Terrible breed, in my opinion,” Callum joked, though there was no real humor behind it.
“But yeah…you might be right. Rationally, that makes sense. And I…” He paused, exhaling slowly.
“I don’t think I want to reach out to him.
Even now that I know who he is, it doesn’t change anything.
His reaction in Ericeira had been pretty self explanatory.
He’s just my biological father. He sent money. That’s it.”
Alejandra squeezed his hand tighter.
“Whatever you choose, I’m here. There’s no need to meet someone who has never cared enough about you or to make a choice now.
You can take your time. It must be…intense, everything you are experiencing.
” Alejandra paused, then sighed. “I might have admired him once, but if he’s an asshole, he’s not a legend anymore to me. ”
Callum smirked slightly. “You can still look up to him—”
“I told you, I haven’t in a long time since—” she trailed off, then glanced at him again. “I don’t know if you found out in your research about his…problems with drugs?”
Callum frowned and shook his head.
“He was suspended in his late thirties,” she explained.
“Not uncommon for athletes to fade, but…in a drug test they found heavy doses of something. I don’t even know what exactly.
And after that…” She shrugged. “Rumors. A lot of them. Every time I’ve seen him since, he looks more…
gone. Like something inside him is eating him alive. ”
Callum’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Well, then it’s best I stay the hell away from him,” he muttered. “I don’t want my mum to meet him again and fall in love with an addict.”
Alejandra tilted her head. “Do you think that’s a possibility? I mean…they’re both in their fifties.”
“She deserves so much more,” Callum said, his voice firm.
“But when we spoke in the hospital, she mentioned not being able to love anyone else. And that…” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, “that worried me. So yeah, one of the reasons I don’t want him anywhere near us is because what if he comes back and breaks her heart again? ”
Alejandra nodded slowly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“There’s no rush. No need to decide anything today, or tomorrow. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and want to see him. Maybe you won’t. Just…take your time with it. Let it sit.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, finally locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Whatever question you have, I’m here.” She smiled softly. “But for what it’s worth, you look and sound more like your taid than Mick.”
“Do I sound like a grandpa with Alzheimer’s?” he joked.
She bumped her shoulder into his. “Idiot. You know what I mean.”
A beat of silence passed, lighter now.
“So,” he said, shifting slightly in his seat, “this Feria de Abril… should I Google it?”
Alejandra beamed instantly, her bright green eyes lighting up in a way that made his chest tighten.
“No,” she said quickly. “I want you to be surprised. It’s such a unique event. We’ll have so much fun. Have you ever been to Sevilla?”
“Just landed there at the end of August to go to Sofia’s wedding,” he said. “It felt like being in the pits of hell.”
Alejandra laughed, loud and unrestrained. “Well, let’s hope Satan didn’t open the gates yet.”
“Yet?” he looked at her, horrified. He immediately pulled out his phone and checked the weather app. His face fell.
“I believe the pits of hell opened already,” he declared, showing her the screen with a glaring, unforgiving 34 degrees at the beginning of May.
Alejandra’s grin only widened. “That’s nothing. Anyway, the cure is called rebujito. You’ll love it, carino.”
He groaned, already sweating just thinking about it, but the way she looked, excited and alive, made him think he might survive anything.