Chapter 37
ALEJANDRA
End of the World - Miley Cyrus
London was just as she remembered. She had been there a couple of times in the past—for events, galas, appearances.
And even though it was Edward’s hometown, she had never been there with him.
Which, honestly, was for the best. At least his ghost wouldn’t be lingering on every corner.
Not that he haunted her, not really, it just annoyed her that she’d ever felt sad over that idiot cheating on her.
Now Callum… Callum was somehow showing her what actually taking care of someone looked like.
Someone you liked—because love still felt like a strong word.
Not that they were a couple, they hadn’t talked about it.
But still, he was acting like the best boyfriend she could’ve asked for.
Showing up. Thinking ahead. Making space.
About an hour after he picked her up from Gatwick, they parked in an underground garage somewhere in East London. Outside, the sky was heavy with clouds, that typical London grey that pressed down gently on the city. It weirdly matched how she felt inside.
She really hoped this trip would help her heal.
Maybe she just needed distance. A break from everything that reminded her of surfing.
A chance to focus on recovery—physical and emotional.
Because yeah, she’d been traumatized by Pipeline, and it had taken her months to even admit it to herself.
She’d pushed it all down, hidden behind the sling, telling herself it was just physical, that it wasn’t emotional damage.
But now that the sling was gone and the pain still lingered—now that she woke up in the middle of the night gasping for breath, heart racing with the memory of being dragged under—there was no pretending anymore.
And then she cried, because how could she be scared of the ocean?
She loved it. It had always been her sanctuary, her adrenaline, her rhythm.
She couldn’t be afraid of it. Couldn’t be afraid to surf.
Callum had insisted on carrying all her bags.
For someone used to hauling board bags and oversized luggage through international terminals by herself, this felt like a quiet luxury.
Over the years, she’d developed her own tricks to carry everything, built calluses on her hands and her patience.
But now, walking behind him while he casually shouldered her backpack and wheeled her suitcase, it felt warm. Easy.
Her eyes drifted to how his jersey pulled across his broad shoulders, down the stretch of his back, and—yep—straight to his ass in those jeans. She was definitely staring when he turned around near the elevator and caught her, an eyebrow raised.
“Tired?” he asked, grinning.
“Not really.”
“Want to play tourist today? Or do you have other plans? We could check out the clinics Seb and Omar recommended later.”
“We can do both. Tour the city now, look into clinics tonight. I have an appointment with Dr. Martínez tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” he said as they stepped into the elevator. “And how do you feel about the appointment?”
Alejandra leaned against the wall, exhaling. “Nervous. It scares me to say out loud what I’ve been thinking, and then not be able to process it.”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek with a tenderness that nearly unraveled her.
“You know I’m here, right? Anytime you want to talk. About any of it.”
“I know…” she breathed. Then hesitated. “I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“It’s about the car accident.”
He nodded once, serious.
“After the accident, were you afraid of driving again? Or just getting into a car?”
He paused, thoughtful. “I was scared of everyone else driving around me. At first, I was totally paranoid, like, no one should’ve had a license except me,” he chuckled softly. “But the more I did it, the more the panic eased. Little by little.”
Alejandra nodded slowly, then whispered, her voice shaky, uncertain: “I’m scared I won’t be able to surf again. And not because of the shoulder. It’s what I feel… here.” She tapped her temple gently.
The elevator dinged before he could answer. They stepped out, and Callum pulled the keys from his pocket.
“I’m sure, Alejandra,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “You’ll surf again. The therapist will help. The clinics will help. Your family will help. And I’ll do everything I can to help you feel whole again.”
She looked up at him, his blue eyes so unwavering, so sure of her when she couldn’t be.
“You already are,” she whispered.
That smile—God, that smile—could light up a whole damn city. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, soft at first. But then he backed her up against the door, his arm braced beside her head, and the kiss turned wild, hot, all-consuming. Her fingers fisted in his shirt just as—
A pointed cough broke them apart. An elderly woman stood nearby, arms crossed, giving them a look that could wither steel.
“This is not the place for such things, Mister Evans,” she said sternly.
“Sorry, Miss Isabel,” Callum said with a sheepish grin, scooping up the dropped bag. “I just find this woman extremely irresistible.”
Alejandra could barely hold in her laughter. She gave the woman a wave, which was met with a narrowed glare. Once inside the flat, they looked at each other and burst into laughter.
How did Callum make her feel like she was fifteen again?