He sobered up instantly, his pulse quickened. Stepping into the bathroom, he called her back.
“What is it?”
“Finally,” she answered. “It’s nothing urgent, but you need to be in London in four days.”
“What? Why?”
“Your father, Mick Turner, was found dead of an overdose in Malibu.”
Silence. Should he feel something? Grief? Anger? Indifference? He felt... nothing.
“And?”
“Apparently, he left something for you and your half-sister in his will. The lawyers will call tomorrow.”
“Mom, what the hell?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Slightly.”
“Okay. I’ll call tomorrow.” She hung up—no goodbye, typical of her.
When Callum stepped back into the room, Alejandra looked up, flushed and barefoot, tipsy and beautiful, as she was untying her shoes.
“What happened?”
“Mick Turned died,” he said, his eyes widening as he remembered what his mother had just said. “And I have a half-sister.”
Alejandra blinked, lips parting in surprise. He could see her alcohol clouded brain trying to put the pieces back together. The only thing she said was, “Me cago en la puta.”
Me cago en la puta indeed.
60
ALEJANDRA
Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Lewis Capaldi
For someonewho had lived her life on the road, taking flights with absurd frequency shouldn’t have been a problem, but lately, she had boarded way too many for her liking. And now, still buzzing slightly from the lingering effects ofrebujitotwo days later, they were back at Gatwick, picked up by Lamina’s personal driver, and heading to Callum’s flat in Victoria Park.
"How do you feel?" she asked, studying his face carefully.
Callum had been quieter than usual since his mother’s call, like his thoughts were stuck in a spiral he couldn’t quite escape. Discovering you had a father—a world-famous surf legend with, apparently, a serious addiction—only to have him die days after finding out… yeah, that would probably mess with anyone's head.
She just wanted to resurrect Mick Turner, impale him on a surfboard, and toss him into the deepest part of the ocean.
She blinked.
Maybe Sofia was right, she really did read too many fantasy novels. Still, anyone who had hurt her boyfriend, the literal greenest flag on Earth, deserved to rot in hell. Mick Turner, once her idol, had now officially made it to her Death Note list. Too bad he was already dead.
"I just wish we’d stayed back in Seville," Callum muttered. "I’d rather handle a heatstroke while drinking rebujito,” he had mastered that word now, “than a family reunion with someone I’ve never met."
"Is your mother coming?"
"Nope. I’ve got to handle this one solo, like a big boy." He snorted, clearly more annoyed than he was letting on. "I just wanted to lie on the beach in Conil with you. Quiet time. But fuck me if life ever gives me a minute."
"I’m sorry," she said, squeezing his hand. "We’ll make up for it. Promise."
