I’m glad you’re alive. I hope you feel better and that you can go back surfing soon
Now back to no contact.
Alejandra sighed. Oh, how she wished she could go surfing soon,but the medical report had been horrible. Yet, she found herself smiling slightly. What an idiot. Why was she smiling so damn hard when her entire life had just turned to shit?
15
CALLUM
Fuera del Mercado - Danny Ocean
A date.
Asma had convinced him to go on a fucking date with one of her friends. The goal? To help him forget the other woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. The only one, in reality. The one who had taken over his mind and refused to leave.
No matter how many work meetings, gym sessions, or sleepless nights he threw at the problem, Alejandra López Romero was still lodged deep in his skull like a song he couldn’t stop humming. More so after she almost drowned to death and his chances to see her again had been close to never.
When he saw her resurface—bloodied, shaken, but alive—he had finally started breathing again. His lungs had relaxed, his fists unclenched. She was okay. Battered but alive.
Sofia had called Ilias in full panic minutes later, and her husband had explained she’d been rushed to the hospital. Her shoulder was dislocated and she was bleeding from multiple reef cuts, but overall she was conscious.
Later that night, Callum sat in silence on his couch, replaying the moment her head finally broke the surface. That image—her exhausted face rising from the water—played on a loop. A single frame his brain couldn’t erase.
The next day, Asma staged an intervention.
"You clearly have something going on," she told him, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "So either forget her or go get her."
He’d chosen neither. Instead, he landed in the worst possible option: the middle. Limbo. The “I’ll just send her a very expensive express package and pretend that’s casual” lane. A not-so-subtle way of saying, I care, without actually admitting he was wrecked over a woman he spent 48 hours with.
Of course, the second her text came in—breakingherfucking no contact—he nearly tripped over his own feet in his apartment.
He’d played it cool in his reply. But he hadn’t meant cool. He’d wanted to ask: “Do you need anything else? How can I help you? Not just physically, but mentally? Because I know what trauma does, and I don’t want you to carry it alone.”
But he didn’t say any of that. He typed the safe version. And assumed she’d go back to pretending nothing happened between them, which had been the case. Callum understood her. He had passed through a very heavy injury that had shattered his dreams too. Because when Sofia announced that Alejandra’s season was over, he replayed in his mind the memory of her announcing that their sex night needed to be a one night stand, nothing more, because she had to focus on her medals, on her titles. He used to be as driven as she was when it came to medals, before his knee decided to give up. He remembered the pain of realizing that the road that he was traveling was blocked, unavailable for him. And Alejandra, he was quite sure she didn’t take the injury well.
Sofia had stayed vague whenever he tried to pry. He respected her for it. But God, he wanted more. He wanted Alejandra. Not the Instagram highlights, not Sofia’s secondhand updates. He wanted to hear her laugh again.
He wanted to feel her under his hands again. Her soft skin being caressed and worshiped by him, and him only.
But now, she had bigger problems than worrying about him and his feelings. She needed to recover, and didn’t need him prying for her attention.
So when Asma set him up with a girl—“gorgeous, smart, totally your type”—he said yes. Mostly out of shame. And mild exhaustion from the “Alejandra Recovery Club” she and Leif had unofficially formed to help him detox.
He dressed well for the date, mostly because Asma and Leif were tracking his progress like scientists testing an experiment. Asma’d even booked the restaurant—the date’s favorite one, apparently.
He spotted the girl waiting at the table. Blonde, stunning, really. But she reminded him too much of Vanessa and somehow, that didn’t sit right with him.
She stood up, cheeks flushed. “Hello, Callum.” He smiled, polite but distant, as she continued, “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Asma told me so much about you.”
Please say your name. Please say your name.
“I’m Jennifer,” she added with a soft giggle, extending her hand.
“Yes. Hi, Jennifer. Nice to meet you.”
Her smile widened. She looked like a porcelain doll with flawless hair, perfect skin, lips painted the exact right shade of red. She probably had perfect cursive handwriting too.
Somehow, the conversation was fine. It flowed. She was smart, charming, all the right things. But after tasting the chaotic, vibrant thrill that was Alejandra, everything else felt mechanical, programmed, predictable.
