Chapter 22
CALLUM
Porfa No Te Vayas - Morat, Beret
They’d been to Ericeira two years ago, trying to pry information about Neptune out of Sofia.
Who would have thought they’d come away with an incredible friend and scientific partner? And, quite possibly, the woman responsible for pushing him into the path of the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen—only to share a night that felt like fireworks and then be thrown straight into radio silence.
God, what a fucked-up life.
But according to Sofia, Alejandra would be at the USL Championship. So maybe—just maybe—that no-contact chapter was finally coming to an end.
Seven months. He had waited seven months to get her back.
He’d done everything he could not to text her, sticking to Sofia’s plan.
According to her, Alejandra had been in a fragile place, and Sofia hadn’t wanted to push her.
She needed time, time to process what had happened to her body and find her way back to the confident woman she’d always been.
At least, that’s what her best friend believed, and she definitely knew Alejandra better than him.
April in Ericeira wasn’t exactly warm. It was cloudy and grey, and he wore a light jacket to protect himself from the cold wind sweeping in from the sea. And yet, he was surprisingly happy. The ocean was nearby, and it reminded him of home.
After dropping his things off in the apartment Sofia had rented for him, he waited for her to pick him up and head to Ribeira d’Ilhas, where the USL event was being held.
When she arrived, to his great disappointment, Alejandra wasn’t with her. Probably noticing the change in his face, Sofia grinned. “She’s coming, don’t worry. She’s resting her shoulder after the car ride from Conil.”
“I didn’t ask,” he said, smiling as he hugged her hello.
“You didn’t have to,” she replied with a knowing smirk. “Ready to lift boxes and work more than just cushy office hours?”
“Gosh, I think I’d have come no matter what.
London’s getting… monotone and my cushy hours last days,” he admitted, running a hand through his recently cropped hair.
He did it at the start of every year ever since a barbershop near his house began donating the proceeds to a local hospital’s pediatric cancer research program. It was like a reset for him.
“It reminds me of when I lived in Milan. I’m so much happier now by the sea. Maybe it’ll inspire a change of life for you too.”
“I wouldn’t think twice. What’s the plan for today?”
Sofia shouted something in Portuguese—or was it Spanish or Italian?
—to a nearby driver. He was terrible with languages that weren’t English—or Welsh, though even that one had faded over the years abroad.
He could still understand it, but he’d lost the ease of speaking it.
Then she muttered, “And then they say Italians can’t fucking drive. ”
After a short exchange in whatever language that was, she turned back to him.
“So, today’s about setting up decorations and the entire booth.
Elvira and Penelope will be there to help, plus two guys volunteered to give you a hand.
I know it’s a lot of work. Asma vouched for them after I sent her their CVs, so they should be helpful. ”
“Thanks. I could’ve handled it myself.”
“Yeah, but with Ale around, I know Lamina won’t be your main focus.”
Callum scoffed. “Still Team Cale?”
“Yep. Forever.” She grinned. “She’s a little grumpy after the surgery. They told her she’d need a year off now—more than the six months they first predicted. The tear in her shoulder was worse than they thought, so she has to be extra careful. It pissed her off.”
Callum nodded. Of course it had.
He knew exactly what that felt like. When his own injury had ended his Olympic dreams, it had taken him months—years, maybe—to recover. Not physically, but mentally.
Spending your whole life working toward something, only to have it ripped away… yeah. He understood that kind of loss. And he wanted to be there for her.
“Do you think she’ll be okay with seeing me?” he finally asked after minutes of silence, watching the coastline blur past the window.
“I suspect she’ll be more than okay,” Sofia said. “She’ll act indifferent at first—I know her like the back of my hand—but then she’ll warm up, and she’ll show you how happy she really is. She hasn’t forgotten you. She still mentions you. So, if you play your cards right… she’ll be yours.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I mean… you already slept with her. You’re one step ahead of every guy currently trying to flirt with her. Plus, she said it was—and I quote—the best sex of her life. So… toughen up, big boy,” Sofia said, patting his shoulder as she parked her Jeep in the lot, flashing her pass at the security.
She handed one to him, too.
As they approached the stalls with Salacia and Lamina’s logos, Elvira—Sofia’s business partner—greeted Callum with a very big smile.
“Not sure you remember me from the wedding. I heard you were busy with someone else,” Elvira introduced herself.
“Yeah…I do,” he knew he didn’t sound sure about it, but she was right. His attention had been snatched by Alejandra since the first moment he had set eyes on her.
“I don’t think so, but thanks for making me feel better,” she grinned.
Callum, slightly embarrassed, just nodded and followed Sofia to the Lamina stall, where two volunteers—a guy and a girl, probably in their early twenties—were already setting things up.
The vibe around the event village was relaxed, laid-back. It reminded him of Aberystwyth in the summer, and he was forever grateful to Sofia to be out of a tux for once.
As he lifted a few boxes from the back of the van, adjusting their weight against his chest, a woman approached the table set up near the entrance.
She was in her forties, bleach blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail that stretched her already overworked features.
Fake tan, even faker boobs straining against a white blouse that had seen better days.
Her lips were glossy and overlined, her perfume strong enough to cut through the salty air.
She had a familiar face he couldn’t quite place.
“I’m Jamie, nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here. I’m TerraVive’s agent,” she said, extending a hand decked out in long acrylic nails and silver bracelets that jingled with every movement.
The sound grated on him.
“Uh… sorry, can’t shake it,” he replied, arms full of boxes as he shifted them higher against his chest.
“But you can tell me your name,” she insisted, batting her lashes in a way that was probably meant to be charming.
“Fuck off, Jamie.”
Sofia’s voice sliced through the air from behind him.
“Out of my fucking sight. Now.”
Jamie turned, startled, but recovered quickly. “Sofia! I didn’t know you had a new colleague.”
“He’s not. He’s a partner with Lamina, one of those you let down when you decided not to tell the truth about Thomas. And I told you, I don’t want to see you around. I was very clear.”
“She’s still bitter just because I vouched for Neptune,” Jamie muttered, rolling her eyes.
Neptune.
That was it.
Callum felt the memory click into place.
The hearing. The trial. The empty promises.
Jamie had sworn she wouldn’t defend Sofia’s ex, and then she had.
He remembered the tension in the room. The way Ilias had gone rigid.
The way someone had physically grabbed his arm to keep him from launching across the table.
Callum lowered the boxes slowly now.
“Considering I was up against Whitmore too,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t see why anyone would defend him. You wasted our time.”
Jamie’s smile faltered for half a second.
“I suggest you leave before Ilias or Ale arrive,” Sofia added, her voice sharp enough to draw blood.
Jamie scoffed. “Ilias can’t do shit unless he wants to be suspended from the USL, again. And your friend Ale? She’s injured. What exactly do you think she can do?”
Something in Callum’s jaw tightened.
“Just go,” Sofia snapped.
Jamie gave a theatrical wave, fake smile back in place, and strutted off as if she had won something.
“Gosh, I hate her,” Sofia muttered.
“Never seen you like this,” Callum said, watching Jamie disappear into the crowd.
“Must be the hormones.”
He frowned at that, but she didn’t elaborate. She just turned and walked away, already barking instructions at someone near the Salacia Project’s booth.
Callum bent to grab another box.
And that’s when he felt it. That sensation, the weight of someone’s gaze. He straightened slowly, the box forgotten in his hands.
And there she was.
Alejandra.
A few meters away, frozen mid-step as if someone had pressed pause on her.
The late afternoon light caught in her hair, darker now than he remembered, pulled back loosely.
A sling hugged her shoulder, stark and unmistakable against her fitted shirt.
There were faint marks along her forearm—healing cuts, maybe.
The kind you only noticed if you were really looking.
Her green eyes were wide, brighter than he remembered, almost luminous against the flush rising in her cheeks. For a split second, neither of them moved. The world around them blurred—people talking, boards clattering, wind whipping through banners—none of it reached him.
She looked different. Quieter.
He noticed the way her fingers curled slightly at her side, as if she had considered stepping forward and then thought better of it. The way her lips parted like she might say something, and then didn’t.
His chest tightened.
She blinked once. Twice.
And in that second he saw it—recognition, surprise, something dangerously close to panic.
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
Then she turned. She disappeared in the direction Sofia had gone, leaving only the faint sway of her hair and the echo of something unfinished hanging in the air.
Callum remained there, box still in his hands, pulse suddenly uneven.
Fucking fantastic.
For the first time, he wasn’t sure if she had walked away because she didn’t want him to see her like that. Or because she couldn’t handle seeing him at all.