Chapter 48
ALEJANDRA
You Are The Reason - Calum Scott
Callum’s childhood home was cozy in a way Alejandra had almost forgotten homes could be.
A fire crackled softly in the stone fireplace despite the mild evening chill, filling the room with warmth that smelled faintly of burning wood and rosemary.
Bundles of dried herbs hung from the wooden ceiling beams alongside copper pans that reflected the golden light spilling from old lamps around the kitchen.
Eira moved easily between the stove and the kitchen table, stirring something simmering in a heavy pot while carrying on a conversation with Alejandra as if they had known each other for years.
The entire house hummed with quiet life—the clinking of plates, the ticking clock on the wall, the low music playing somewhere in the background, the worn floorboards creaking whenever someone crossed the room.
It looked like the set of one of those comforting films people watched when they wanted to believe families like this actually existed.
Except this place felt too imperfect to be staged.
The cushions on the sofa were slightly sunken with use, there were mugs abandoned on side tables, and handwritten notes tucked beneath magnets on the fridge.
Everything carried the unmistakable feeling of being touched, used, loved.
Lived in.
Growing up in the south of Spain, Alejandra had always associated comfort with warmth—sun-bleached terraces, salt drying on her skin after long afternoons at the beach, the sound of ceiling fans humming through open windows while her mother cooked dinner downstairs.
Then surfing had taken her everywhere: tropical islands, crowded coastal cities, tiny surf towns where summer never seemed to end.
Most of the places she had lived in or passed through carried that same kind of heat. Open spaces. Brightness. Noise.
Wales was nothing like them.
The air here smelled of rain, earth, and woodsmoke instead of salt and sunscreen. The hills rolled endlessly beneath grey skies, and the stone houses looked as though they had grown directly from the landscape itself.
And yet, somehow, it still felt cozy.
Not in the familiar way Andalucía did, nor in the temporary comfort of hotel rooms and rented apartments she had drifted through for years while chasing competitions around the world. This felt quieter. Steadier. The kind of place that made people slow down without realizing it.
Maybe that was why stepping into Callum’s childhood home unsettled her a little. Because it didn’t feel temporary. It felt lived in. Rooted. Like a place someone always came back to.
Night had fallen, and Alejandra had offered to help Eira, but she’d declined—and thank fuck, because Alejandra hated cooking. She truly hoped that wouldn’t be a dealbreaker for Callum, wherever their relationship was headed.
Eira was fun, easy to talk to, a breath of fresh air.
She reminded Alejandra of Callum, not just in mannerisms or accent, but in the way she laughed and the way she frowned.
When Callum arrived with his grandfather, she saw it even more clearly.
The man must have been as tall as Callum once, though now age had shortened him.
His eyes were the same bright blue, his face clean-shaven, and he still had all his hair, now white, instead of Callum’s dark.
“Taid, I would like to introduce Alejandra. Alejandra, this is my taid,” Callum said, motioning toward her.
Alejandra rose from her chair and extended her hand.
The old man looked down at her, his smile warm. “Nice to meet you.” His handshake was weaker than expected, but still steady.
“Dad, come sit down for dinner so we can eat. They’re probably starving,” Eira said, helping her father to the head of the table. A bottle of wine sat in the center, and he filled everyone’s glass.
“You don’t have to drink it,” Callum whispered. “It’s just something he always does.”
“I’ll drink it. Don’t worry.”
They all sat down, and it was lovely seeing this new side of Callum.
His relationship with Eira reminded Alejandra of her mother—a bond she missed dearly, one she was avoiding because she couldn’t admit to her family how scared she was of the one thing that had always brought in money.
She kept texting them and kept them up to date to where she was.
It had been less than a week, but to not be truthful with her parents and Carlos…
well, it didn’t sit right with her, but at the same time, she was scared of telling them the truth.
Dinner passed with stories from Callum’s childhood.
How he had started swimming during primary school, and Eira had known it was going to be hard to take him out of the water.
How he had been a life guard on the beach for years before moving out to Harvard.
And apparently, he’d tried surfing several times, but claimed he’d never been any good.
“Too tall,” he excused, but Alejandra quirked a brow.
“Ilias is tall and he’s amazing. What’s your excuse now?”
Callum dragged his foot up her leg—higher and higher—until she stopped him with her thighs. He let out a quiet laugh, unfazed. His taid asked her several times who she was, and she didn’t mind repeating it. Her own grandmother had suffered from Alzheimer’s; she understood the rhythm of it.
“I’m taking Dad to bed. You two are free to go,” Eira said, gently helping her father up.
“I can help clean up,” Alejandra offered.
“No, go. I know Callum wants to show you around Aber.” Eira smiled, and Callum handed her her coat.
“How do you feel?” he asked as they stepped outside into a street that looked like something out of The Holiday.
“Good. I love it here. Your family is very welcoming. How about you?”
“Glad you’re here,” he said honestly. “It’s hard seeing my taid like that.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m here for you.”
He kissed her, long and sweet, before guiding her into a lively pub filled with music and laughter. The scent of beer and fried food clung to the air, and voices in Welsh bounced around them. She caught some words here and there, but Callum leaned in to translate when needed.
A blonde woman burst out from behind the bar and threw her arms around her in a surprise hug, making her shoulder wince.
“I’m Rhiannon, childhood friend of this asshole who now lives in London.” She grinned. “You must be Alejandra. I’m so happy to meet an Olympic medalist!”
“Nice to meet you too.” Alejandra laughed, caught off guard but warmed by the welcome.
Rhiannon was hilarious, pouring them beers on the house while Callum waved to familiar faces and introduced her as “a friend.” Though with their hands laced together, it was obvious she was something more, and yet they hadn’t talked about it.
And she wasn’t sure when was the right time.
Apparently, the road trip was their first date.
Were they still on that first date? Sometimes she wondered why she was so terrible in expressing her emotions.
Why didn’t she learn from Sofia? Even though with Ilias she needed a push, she wore her heart on her sleeve.
But Alejandra no, she wore her pussy on her sleeve, and that’s why she had bonded with Callum through sex and now she was deep into the “I’m falling in love with this guy and I don’t know how to handle it.
” Or maybe she did, she was just scared of…
She frowned. What was she scared of? He was perfect.
Maybe she should bring up the subject herself.
A mind spinning kiss from him stopped her spiraling brain and reminded her that worrying wasn’t doing her any good.
Callum had showed her in many ways how he cared about her.
A label wasn’t going to change anything even though…
Yeah, maybe she’d like to be his girlfriend.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she whispered in his ear, barely audible above the music. Too many beers and too much water.
He nodded, giving her a soft smile, and squeezing her ass as she left. This man.
When she came back, after a long line in which apparently the entirety of the female tenants of the pub needed to pee at her exact same time, a woman was practically draped over Callum, whispering something into his ear.
Her very competitive personality threatened to push her forward and push that woman far away from him.
But the crowd helped slow down her pace.
She studied his expression. It said everything she needed to know—he wasn’t happy.
He kept putting distance between them, as she clawed at his neck to whisper something in his ear.
The woman wore a sleek suit far too polished for a Welsh pub, her hair perfectly styled, and she was far too close to him for Alejandra’s comfort.
“Hello?” Alejandra said, stepping forward.
Trying to be calm and collected, but wanting to mark the territory.
She hadn’t almost lost her life at Pipeline to have the only good thing happening to her lately been swiped away from her by a clingy—and clearly drunk—woman.
“I think you’re draped over the wrong man. ”
The woman turned, eyes scanning her with a very judgemental look. Callum immediately stood and guided the woman to his stool, putting space between himself and the stranger.
“He’s mine,” the woman slurred.
Definitely drunk.
“Is he now?” Alejandra tilted her head, but Callum’s hand wrapped around her shoulders. “She’s my ex. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” Alejandra asked softly, eyes on his.
“Yeah. I—let’s go down to the beach. Is that okay?” He looked extremely tense, like the interaction didn’t sit right with him as much as it didn’t sit right with her.
“Sure,” she said, smiling. “Let’s go.”
“He was mine!” the woman screamed as they exited the pub.
Callum’s shoulders were tight as they walked down the quiet street.
The noise from the pub was far away now, just the sound of the waves crushing on the shore down to the beach lulling them.
It somehow felt reassuring, that sound that she had missed dearly in her days in London.
She had never realized how addicted it was, how it was like her North Star, her constant companion wherever she was in the world.
“You okay?” she asked, glancing up to see his jaw clenched under the stubble.
“Yeah. Sorry about Vanessa.” He sighed. “Didn’t expect to run into her. She must’ve found out I was home and guessed right with me being at Rhiannon’s pub.”
“Want to tell me a little about her?”
“She’s not important,” he said. “She hasn’t been for the past five years.
We were engaged, and then she broke up with me because I wasn’t enough in the political world.
” He paused, as they kept strolling towards the beach.
“She’s a far-right politician. As I told you, we met at Harvard.
We knew each other from Aber but we never actually interacted.
She helped me through the injury, and then we outgrew each other. ”
“How long were you together?”
“Ten years.”
“That’s a lot.” Considering her longest relationship was a year long. That was fucking long, which worried her a little. Could she spend ten years, let alone the rest of her life with someone when her past relationships had been…horrible?
“I know.” Then he added, “But she doesn’t matter.”
Alejandra nodded, but didn’t speak. Her mind spiralled slightly. She had seen how hard Sofia had suffered from Thomas’ betrayal after eight years together. Ten years was a lot of shared past. Would she be able to replicate that?
Callum stopped suddenly, turned, and cupped her face in his hands.
“Alejandra. I need you to understand this.” His forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Now that I know what this could be, what we could be…” He exhaled shakily.
“I can’t go back to that. I want you. I want more than friendship.
I want you to be my girlfriend. I want us to be endgame.
Because with you, I feel good—not just the sex, but everything. I feel like I’m home.”
Her heart raced like never before. Not even after winning the Olympic medal.
It felt good to look into those blue eyes and see a promise she needed, a declaration she had been wanting but scared to ask.
He seemed sincere. Callum had never given her a chance to doubt him.
In reality, she was the one who gave him plenty of reasons to doubt this—to doubt her.
It was Alejandra who insisted on the no contact bullshit.
It was her career driven mind and what if's about her injury that showed him over and over where her focus and priorities were.
Alejandra could have brought up all of this, but the words that slipped out of her mouth were the calmest she had ever spoken.
“Okay,” she whispered to his lips, her hands on his stubbled cheeks. “Okay, Callum. I want to be your girlfriend too. I want you to be my boyfriend. I want us to be endgame.”
His smile lit up everything. “For real?”
“For real. I don’t care about Vanessa.” A tiny lie, but it was a white one. “I just care about us. I want this. I want us.”
Callum crashed his lips on hers—deep, slow, sure. The kind of kiss that made her feel like she’d found her place. That no matter how long the road, it had somehow led her here. Callum was her home.