Chapter 53
ALEJANDRA
You Should Be Sad - Halsey
Seeing Callum crumble to the floor and cry had broken her to the core.
They had stayed like that for long minutes, wrapped in silence, his weight half against her, her hand tangled in his hair, grounding him the only way she knew how.
She didn’t know exactly what had happened at first, but she knew he needed time—space to fall apart without being rushed to put himself back together.
Just when he’d started to breathe normally again, when the tension in his shoulders had loosened just enough, he told her. He loved his taid, but seeing him like that had destroyed him. Realizing that he was losing him—and not being able to do anything about it—was an unconsolable kind of pain.
She knew that feeling. Too well. It tasted the same as the grief she had carried for her grandmother, for Antonio. That helpless, suffocating awareness that love didn’t make you powerful—it just made the loss hurt more.
If she could have carried his pain for him, she would have.
After a long shower together, hand in hand, they walked down toward the beach, where the bonfires were already being set up, the smell of smoke and salt thick in the air. The sky was darkening, clouds rolling in like something brewing just beyond reach.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Wasn’t Mick the name of that surfer we met in Ericeira?”
Alejandra frowned up at him. After that weird exchange between Mick and Callum, Alejandra had completely forgotten about the interaction.
“Yeah, Mick Turner,” she admitted. “Why?”
He pressed his lips together. Something was bothering him, something deeper than the grief about his taid. She could see it in the crease between his brows, in the way his grip on her hand tightened, in how his other hand kept dragging through his short hair.
Somehow, over the past months—even from a distance—she had learned to read him. Maybe better than she read herself.
“You can’t tell my mum.”
“Mouth shut,” she replied instantly, more serious now. She loved a good secret, but there was something heavy in his tone that made her straighten.
“When I was talking with my taid earlier, I mentioned you were a surfer, because… well, he clearly couldn’t remember.”
Alejandra nodded.
“And he said something like, ‘a surfer like that asshole of your father,’ and then mentioned his name. Mick.”
Alejandra’s brows furrowed. Her mind went back to Mick—the sturdy British surfer with the sunburned skin, blond mane, and those sharp brown eyes. Could that be the reason why he had reacted that way? Could he really be his father?
As she glanced at Callum, mentally placing him next to Mick, she searched for similarities, but Callum looked like a younger version of his taid. Same structure, same presence. Whatever Mick was… it didn’t show.
“If he’s the Mick your taid is referencing—I mean…” she hesitated. “You don’t really look like him. You saw him.”
“But the thing is…” Callum exhaled. “When I told my mum you were a surfer, she said something like, ‘Surfers can’t be trusted.’ So maybe… maybe my taid’s telling the truth.”
Alejandra tilted her head. “Do you want to know the truth?”
He hesitated, then shook his head with a small smile. “I’ll think about it tomorrow.” He tugged her closer as they reached the bonfire where Rhiannon, Eira and his taid, with a bunch of other people were gathered. “Tonight, I just want to have fun.”
“I have bad news,” Rhiannon chimed in immediately, killing the mood with impressive efficiency. “Vanessa’s here. With Garramond.”
Alejandra rolled her eyes. Callum scowled. “Why is she even here?”
“It’s a public place.” Alejandra shrugged, glancing around at the growing crowd.
“Don’t be reasonable now,” Callum muttered, half amused, half annoyed.
She grinned, raising her hands in surrender.
“She’s probably here to annoy the shit out of you,” Rhiannon added under her breath. Then, after a beat: “And… here they are.”
Alejandra turned, and blinked. Vanessa was holding hands with a man who looked old enough to be her father.
“Is it custom here to go around holding hands with your dad?” she whispered to Callum. He bit back a laugh.
Definitely not her father.
“Callum, nice to see you,” Vanessa said smoothly, like nothing had ever happened the night before.
Like she hadn’t turned into a fucking mussel and stuck to Callum for dear life.
Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, her tailored dress elegant, and completely ridiculous for a beach bonfire with a storm threatening overhead.
Alejandra glanced down at herself—Callum’s oversized sweater, worn jeans, sand already clinging to her sneakers. They were like night and day, and she wondered if this version of Vanessa wasn’t the one he had fallen in love with when they met in college.
“Vanessa,” Callum replied, flat.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. A promising swimmer, such a shame about the accident. Terrible luck,” the older man said, extending his hand. “Raymond Garramond.”
Callum didn’t take it. “Nice to meet you.”
Oh. Unpolite Callum? Very, very hot.
“Don’t you want to introduce me to your friend?” Vanessa asked, her voice dripping sweetness. Too much sweetness.
“I’m his girlfriend,” Alejandra cut in, firm and clear. Let her choke on it. “Alejandra López Romero.”
Garramond studied her. “I notice an accent. Where are you from?”
Alejandra let out a short laugh. “An accent? I just gave you my full name. I’m clearly not from around here. I’m Spanish.”
God, she hated politicians. She could smell it on him—the posture, the tone, the way he scanned people like they were something to categorize.
“I heard you’re a surfer,” Vanessa said, her gaze dragging slowly from Alejandra’s shoes to her face. “Surfers are the worst, don’t you think, Eira?”
Eira froze slightly, caught off guard as she was chatting with her friends nearby.
“Oh, what? Now you’re not saying anything?” Vanessa continued, a sharp edge creeping into her tone. “Funny. Considering what you used to say.”
Then her eyes snapped to Callum. “But I suppose it makes sense. Like mother, like son. Always drawn to unpredictable, unstable people.”
Alejandra’s jaw tightened. There was definitely something Eira had shared with Vanessa in the past, and she was now using to rage bait, probably.
“She’ll leave you,” Vanessa went on, her voice dropping, almost intimate, but venomous. “As soon as her shoulder heals, she’ll be gone. That’s what people like her do. They take what they need and move on.”
“Vanessa, go away,” Callum said, his voice low, dangerous. Not loud, but sharp enough to cut. His whole body had gone rigid, jaw tight, eyes locked on her with a warning that was very real.
“I’m serious,” Vanessa insisted, stepping closer. “You think this is different? You think she’s different? You’re just repeating the same mistake—”
“I said, go away.” His voice didn’t rise, but it hardened. “You don’t get to come here, insult the people I care about, and pretend you still have a say in my life.”
“Callum—”
“No.” He shook his head. “You made your choice. Years ago. You walked away. So don’t come back now acting like you know what’s good for me.”
“Hey,” Garramond stepped in, frowning. “Watch how you speak to my wife.”
“Wife?” Rhiannon blinked. “You married this old man?”
Alejandra almost laughed. God, she loved her.
Garramond stiffened, clearly not used to being spoken to like that. Vanessa’s nostrils flared, her composure cracking just a fraction.
“Could you just go?” Callum said, wrapping an arm around Alejandra, pulling her closer. “You’re making everyone uncomfortable. I’m here with my family, my friends, my girlfriend. You’re none of that anymore. And that’s on you.”
Vanessa held his gaze for a second too long—something bitter flickering there—before she turned on her heel without another word.
“Bye,” Alejandra called sweetly, giving a small wave. “Careful with the heels. Rocks can be tricky.”
Callum let out a breath, tension slowly leaving his shoulders.
He glanced at his mother, who had gone back to the fire, sitting beside his taid, who seemed blissfully unaware of the entire scene.
Alejandra noticed how her shoulders were stiff and how she had disappeared from the argument the moment that harpy had called her out.
She had read enough books to puzzle things together.
Callum’s taid must be right in his memory loss—his father was a surfer, and she prayed he wasn’t Mick, because how could she excuse a man she had always considered an example from leaving a fifteen years old girl alone with a child?
Maybe he was young too, inexperienced, scared but still—he had years to make up for it.
“I’m sorry,” Callum muttered, brushing away her machinations. “She’s always needed to be the center of attention.”
“Don’t worry.” Alejandra smiled. “I can handle a bit of bitching.” She nudged him lightly. “Now… should we enjoy tonight?”
“Yes, please.” He leaned down and kissed her deeply, grounding himself again. “There’s something I want to show you about Calan Mai tonight.”
The way he said it—low, just for her—made her stomach flip.
“I love traditions,” she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair.
“Thank you for being here.”
Alejandra snorted softly. “We’re endgame.” Then she tilted her head. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you ever support her far-right ideas?”
Callum looked genuinely disgusted. “God, no. I think it’s fucking idiotic.
They’ve taken the beauty of Wales and twisted it into propaganda.
And people—some people—actually listen to that shit.
It pisses me off.” He shook his head. “She broke up with me, but I was already halfway out. I couldn’t be with someone who thinks where you’re born makes you worth more or less than anyone else. ”
Alejandra studied him for a moment. Yeah. She was completely gone for this man. “Could you be any more perfect?”
He smirked slightly, leaning closer. “If you let me do what I want to do to you tonight… then probably yes, love.”