He didn’t know much about Pipeline. He didn’t know much about surfing besides what he had learned growing up in Aberystwyth. He wanted to ask Sofia if that was the wave where she had breached her scalp, he remembered her appearing with a bandage on her head once. But he didn’t dare ask. He didn’t want all of his friends and colleagues to think he still had a thing for her.
By the fact that Alejandra was wearing a helmet, that said everything he needed to know about how punishing that wave could be.
Unaware of where his mind truly was, Asma started talking about the new corporation they were tracking—a massive fraud case linked once again to Whitmore, Sofia’s ex. That man just didn’t know when to quit. House arrest in the U.S. hadn't done shit to slow him down.
Callum used to enjoy the thrill of this work. Digging into people’s messes. Sending bad people to prison. He used to feel like Robin Hood, taking from the rich and giving to the poor. But not today. Not now. Not in a very long time.
His eyes flicked back to the screen. Alejandra was in the water now, perched on her board, watching the sets come in. She was competing against a girl from the States and anotherfrom Germany. The ocean stretched wide around her, the surface calm and glittering.
“Callum, are you even listening?” Leif smirked.
Bastard.
He forced his gaze away from the screen. “Yes. The data’s still incomplete. My team didn’t have time to sift through everything yet.”
Leif raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Everyone in that room knew he’d slept with Alejandra. And everyone was waiting to see how long he’d keep pretending she didn’t still haunt him.
When he looked back at the screen, Alejandra was paddling hard into a wave. She rose up without effort, her body balancing on the crest like it belonged there, as if gravity bowed to her. For what he knew about surfing—which wasn’t much—her form was perfect, almost impossibly so. But then—
Alejandra slipped.
Something went wrong. Her foot seemed to miss the grip, and her body tumbled. She dropped straight down the face of the wave, disappearing beneath the white foam.
Callum froze, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor barely registering. Whoever had been speaking in the meeting went on talking, their voice distant and meaningless. His chest tightened, his stomach pitched, and his heart… God, his heart stopped.
The board crashed toward the shore moments later, leash torn, skimming the water like a broken promise. But she didn’t surface. Alejandra didn’t come up.
Sofia mirrored his movement, standing and muttering something in Italian, but he couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her. Nothing existed except the screen and the blue surface of water.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
His pulse spiked, a hammering in his ears, drowning outeverything else. He was holding his breath as if the pressure of the water was pressing against his lungs. As if he were the one trapped under meters of ocean, gasping, clawing, suffocating.
She had to come up. Shehadto.
Please. Please, please, please… Alejandra, come up. Breathe. Just breathe.
He hadn’t prayed in years. Not seriously. Not for anything real. But here he was, whispering, yelling, begging to a god he didn’t believe in, hoping that some thread of mercy might reach her. Because nothing—not spreadsheets, not logic, not a single fucking detail he’d memorized—could control the ocean.
His fingers curled into fists, knuckles white, nails biting into his palms. His mind raced, each scenario more horrifying than the last. What if she didn’t come up? And then another, crueler thought: what if she didn’t come up… and he survived it? Could he survive it? Could he survive losing her like that, seeing her vanish and knowing nothing could save her?
His breaths came in ragged gasps. Sweat pricked at his hairline, and a cold tremor ran down his spine. He didn’t care if anyone noticed. He didn’t care if his friends or Sofia thought he was losing it. He was terrified. Terrified in a way that was bigger than embarrassment, bigger than logic, bigger than him.
The camera zoomed out, then in, then panned over the endless water. Nothing. Nothing.
Callum’s chest ached. His throat burned. And all he could do was wait. Wait and hope. Wait and beg.
And maybe that was the most terrifying part of all: the absolute helplessness.
13
ALEJANDRA
Head Above Water - Avril Lavigne
No entres en pánico,Alejandra. Don’t fucking panic.
She had trained for this. Prepared for it. Years of apnea work in the pool every single morning. Many big waves surf retreats where this was the focus. Carlos timing her, pushing her. Stretching her lung capacity past every previous limit.
