Chapter 58
ALEJANDRA
I Am Getting Well - Dean Lewis
The pits of hell had indeed opened in Sevilla already.
One of its infamous May heatwaves had rolled in early, coating the city in a thick layer of heat, sweat, and lightheadedness that clung to the skin like a second layer.
People in trajes de flamenca wandered the cobbled streets, fanning themselves furiously, their faces shiny beneath wide-brimmed hats and flower crowns.
The scent of fried food, orange blossoms, sunscreen, and horse leather lingered in the air like an overwhelming, intoxicating perfume.
“Is it normally this hot in May?” Callum asked, using the abanico she’d given him to fan his flushed face.
He looked more like a lost British tourist than usual—sweaty, confused, slightly overwhelmed—as they waited for her parents and Carlos to arrive.
They were parking around the corner, just arriving straight from Conil to kill two birds with one stone—see her and enjoy the first Feria de Abril together in a very long time.
She hadn’t planned to be there, to join, but after what had happened in Wales, her shoulder needed attention and Doctor Gonzalez had urged her for an x-ray that very same morning.
Nothing broken. Her shoulder was recovering. She was fine. Or at least, physically.
Alejandra and Callum had stayed at her grandparents’ house in Sevilla, the one Carlos and she had inherited when they died, and her family was going to join for the night.
It had been nice—more than nice—to have Callum step into a part of her life she hadn’t quite shown him yet.
Her Spanish roots were important to her, but even more so were her Andalusian ones—her mother’s family from Conil, her father’s from Sevilla.
The rhythm, the chaos, the loud love. All of it.
Before telling them the truth, she wanted a few more minutes alone with him. Just a few. Before everything shifted. Before she had to say out loud what had been sitting, heavy and suffocating, inside her chest.
“It’s Sevilla. Nothing is normal here.” She smirked, gesturing at the people walking by in polka dots, ruffles, and high heels in the middle of the day, sweat beading on their necks. “Tonight you’ll see the best of it.”
“Why is it called Feria of April, when it’s May?” Callum asked, fanning his face.
“It’s because it follows the Holy Week, and since it changes every year, it may happen that it ends at the beginning of May.”
She couldn’t wait to show him the madness, the music, the lights of the Feria de Abril.
“Do I really have to wear a suit?” he grumbled. “I’m already sweating through this shirt. I thought I had left my suits in Lamina’s office.”
Alejandra chuckled. “If you want to see me in one of those dresses,” she pointed to the many girls walking with their stunning trajes, fabric clinging and flowing at the same time, “you’re wearing the suit. We’ll sweat together with rebujito, don’t worry, carino.”
He groaned but smiled, shaking his head, just as a familiar voice called out her name across the street.
Her parents were waving animatedly, shouting for her and Callum, while Carlos trailed behind them, looking absolutely mortified to be part of such a scene. That sight alone made something warm twist in her chest. She had missed this. More than she had admitted, even to herself.
“Here they are.” Alejandra chuckled, stepping forward to meet them.
They wrapped her in a sweaty, emotional hug, then turned to Callum and pulled him into the same kind of affection without hesitation. He was part of the family now—she had told them what had happened, what they meant to each other. And they genuinely seemed to like him. Maybe even love him already.
“Qué guapa estás, hija,” her father declared, as always. If she had the confidence she did, it was thanks to him. Since she was a kid, he had never ceased to tell her how gorgeous she was—even when she clearly wasn’t.
“Y tú, qué guapo, madre mía,” her mother said, immediately hanging onto Callum’s arm. “Very gorgeous,” she repeated in English, just in case.
Carlos chuckled next to her, wrapping her in a strong hug that almost lifted her off the ground. “I missed you, gremlin.”
“Missed you too.” She looked up at him. “How do you feel?”
“You ask me? I’m not the one who dove to save a grandpa.” He grinned. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Good.”
That question caught her parents’ attention immediately, who were in the middle of interrogating Callum about everything—from his job to whether he liked Spanish food—and they turned to her at once, firing questions over each other. It was chaos. Pure, loud, overlapping chaos.
Her parents talking at the same time, her trying to answer both, Carlos sighing like he wanted to dig himself a grave right there on the pavement. Callum watched them, clearly amused, as she threw him a sheepish smile.
That was the López Romero way. Loud, messy, overwhelming, and full of love.
Alejandra told them about the doctor’s appointment. More recovery. More time. More patience.
“Have you been doing the strengthening exercises I told you about?” Carlos asked, instantly switching to trainer mode.
“Yes, never missed a day.”
Every morning, wherever she was—London or Aberystwyth—before Callum woke up, she had her two hours of recovery. No exceptions. At the end of the day, she was still an athlete.
“I really need to talk to you before prepping everything for the Feria tonight. Can we just grab a coffee before we go get ready?”
The three of them exchanged a glance. Carlos studied her with that older-brother look—the one that saw too much, too fast.
“I’ll go start getting ready,” Callum offered softly. “I’ll wait for you in the house so you can talk freely.”
She nodded, gave him the keys, kissed him goodbye, and watched as he disappeared toward their grandparents’ house.
The four of them crossed the street to a nearby café, settling at a shady table under an awning that barely protected them from the heat. Everyone ordered iced café con leche, condensation already forming on the glasses before they even touched them.
As the drinks arrived, Alejandra’s stomach twisted.
“I have to confess something,” she said, her voice low.
“?Qué pasa, Alejandra?” her mother asked immediately, alarm flashing across her face, while her father straightened and Carlos leaned back, watching her carefully.
“Nada. Just that…the real reason I basically fled Conil… it wasn’t just for Callum.” She gave a small, almost guilty smile. “He was a good reason. But the truth is…I couldn’t face what the injury did to me. Not physically. Mentally.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. Her father went still. Carlos…Carlos looked like he had already known.
“I’m still not sure I’ll be able to go back to surfing.
Every day I’m inching towards yes, but…” she admitted, fingers tightening around her glass.
“It’s not because of my shoulder. It’s my head.
I’ve been seeing a therapist. Sofia helped.
Callum too. But after what happened—with the reef—I got stuck.
I had to dislocate my arm just to get free.
And something cracked inside me that day. Something deep.”
She took a sip of coffee, the cold grounding her slightly. Her hands trembled just enough for her to notice.
“And I didn’t tell you… because I know how much you built around me. My career, your choices. Everything revolved around my decision to surf. And if I can’t go back… it wouldn’t just hurt me. It would hurt you too.”
“Alejandra…” her mother whispered, eyes already glossing over.
“Let me finish,” she said quickly, voice wavering now.
“I owe everything to the three of you. My entire career. I’m not saying I’m retiring—I showed I can still get in the water, and with the right amount of work I’ll do it—but I don’t know if I can compete again.
I’m scared I’ll freeze. That I’ll choke.
That I’ll get stuck again. I need time. I need space.
And mostly… I need to ask for your forgiveness. ”
Silence fell over the table.
When she looked up, her father was quietly bawling, tears running freely down his tanned cheeks. Her mother was shaking her head, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Carlos gave her a soft, steady, understanding smile.
She turned to him. “You gave up your career to train me. You shouldn’t have. But you did. And you’ve been the best trainer I could’ve asked for. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Carlos reached across the table, gripping her hand firmly.
“Ale,” he said gently, “you could never disappoint me. I’m upset you didn’t tell us.
That you made us believe you were fine. But I’m glad you’re processing it.
Not so you can surf again, but so you can feel like yourself again.
I’ll be fine. I’ll help you recover. Your mental health comes first. Always. ”
Alejandra clenched her jaw, her throat aching with unshed tears.
“Hija,” her father said, voice thick with emotion, “you could never upset us. You’ve done so much, achieved so much. You gave us an amazing life, more than we could have asked for. And you suffered something traumatic. Whatever you decide, we’re here. We love you.”
Her nose pinched, her vision blurring. She nodded, barely holding herself together.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I escaped. I just needed time.”
“We could retire now with the sponsor money you brought in,” her father joked through tears, trying to lighten the moment.
“You’ve saved money?” she asked, raising a brow.
“You didn’t?” her mother deadpanned.
“I did,” she said, letting out a small, shaky laugh. “Just… not always the best with numbers.”
“We love you, hija,” her mother said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Whatever you choose, we’re with you. And don’t you dare worry about us. We are fine. We have money, and the house here in Sevilla.”
Carlos nodded. Her father too. “We are your family. Te queremos, Alejandra.”
“Os quiero yo también,” she whispered.
And for the first time in what felt like months, the weight on her chest loosened. Not gone—but shared. Carried between four people instead of one.
She felt lighter and ready to face the Feria, the noise, the music, the lights…with her family and Callum.