Alejandra held him through every shaking breath, fingers threading gently through his hair while her forehead rested against his temple. She didn’t rush him. Didn’t try to offer meaningless reassurance.
She just stayed.
53
ALEJANDRA
You Should Be Sad - Halsey
SeeingCallum 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.
