“We’ll go,” Callum said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders—gently.
“Oh.” She smirked, “you coming with me?”
“Obviously. I’m the one carrying your boards or luggage, or whatever you need.”
She grinned, eyes dancing. “Let me show you the world, then,princess,” she sing-songed in a mock-Disney voice.
“You’re such an idiot,” he chuckled, kissing her hair.
57
CALLUM
Tarantola - Bresh
Alejandra had founda flight out of Gatwick, two days after Calan Mai, not because she wanted to leave Aberystwyth, but because her doctor would be on vacation the following week due to something called Feria de Abril. He really had no idea what it was, but Alejandra had bribed him with the promise of wearing a very second-skin, boob-showing dress traditional of her culture. He would have gone even without the dress—he would have followed her anywhere—and she had promised his mother that they would come back soon, as soon as her shoulder had been cleared.
They had arrived quite early, so they were both slumping on some uncomfortable airport chairs in front of their gate—Alejandra reading one of her smut books on her Kindle, completely absorbed, and him spiraling about his father.
He had given up and Googled him the moment they had arrived. The guy he had met in Ericeira smiled at him from the research images. Mick Turner was indeed a surf legend. Articles, old competition footage, interviews, even a few grainy photos from the early 2000s. A name that meant something to people. A name that apparently meant nothing to him.
There were moments in which he was sure he didn't want anything to do with him, but then others in which the doubt crept in. What if they could put the past aside and bond like father and son? But then, reality slapped him in the face. That fantasy was destroyed by the memory of Mick running away from him, in pure panic.
That man had decided it was best to pay money monthly rather than spend time meeting him, his son. Possibly only son? He had no idea. There was no mention anywhere of another family, no interviews hinting at children, nothing. Just a ghost of a man who had existed loudly in the public eye and silently in his life.
“I can see you spiraling,” Alejandra said, glancing at him as her e-reader went dark in her hands. “Do you want to talk about him?”
“You definitely know him more than me.”
Alejandra shrugged, tucking one leg under her on the chair. “I’ve been in the circuit since I was eleven. He was at the peak of his career back then, somebody we all looked up to. The kind of name you’d hear whispered like it meant something. Like it was the ultimate achievement.” She paused, fingers brushing the edge of her e-reader. “I preferred female athletes as my inspiration, but I had the chance to learn from Mick. A few camps, a few shared waves. And he always had a kind word for us kids.”
Callum scoffed under his breath, his gaze still fixed on the picture of a younger Mick—sun-bleached hair, easy smile, confidence dripping from him.
“Then why did he never want to meet me?” he asked quietly.
Alejandra took a deep breath. He could see her thinking, weighing her words carefully, her gaze drifting for a moment to the massive windows where planes taxied under the hazy light.
“I thought about it since you told me,” she admitted.
“And what’s the conclusion?”
She bit down on her lower lip, hesitating.
“Athletes…” she started slowly, “we are selfish. Very. Extremely selfish.” A small, almost bitter smile. “Was what he did to your mother right?” She shook her head immediately. “Absolutely not. And not what he did to you either. But I can…understand the mechanism behind it.”
Her hand found his, fingers sliding between his, grounding him.
“He was young, probably obsessed with being the best of his generation. And there’s this belief—old, outdated, but still there—that family can get in the way. That feelings slow you down. That attachment cost you medals.” She exhaled softly. “I think he convinced himself that the money was enough. That he was…providing. Without having to be present.”
Callum glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “Mmmh. You feel you’ve been like Mick Turner a bit?”
A slight scowl crossed her face, but it softened into a sigh.
“We are selfish beings,” she admitted. “You must know. You were one too.”
“Terrible breed, in my opinion,” Callum joked, though there was no real humor behind it. “But yeah…you might be right. Rationally, that makes sense. And I…” He paused, exhaling slowly. “I don’t think I want to reach out to him. Even now that I know who he is, it doesn’t change anything. His reaction in Ericeira had been pretty self explanatory. He’s just my biological father. He sent money. That’s it.”
Alejandra squeezed his hand tighter.
