“You won’t. We’ll always be us.”
But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Things had been changing between George and me for the last few years, since he returned from covering the fires. Suddenly I was terrified there was no going back. And I could see that George felt it, too.
“Okay.” He sounded flattened.
“George.” I reached for him, but he stepped back. “Don’t go. Stay and fight this out with me.”
He shook his head. “I need space, Frankie. Otherwise, I’m going to say something I’ll regret.”
I stood in the middle of the field, watching him walk away, until I could no longer see him beyond the hedge.
JANUARY 10, 2026
To: George Saint James
From: Frankie Gardiner
Subject: Best man?
George,
It’s been two weeks since you asked for space. You know I’m not a patient person, and I’m sorry if you need more distance from me. If that’s the case, you can wait to read this until you’re ready. (But please don’t wait too long.)
Because these days I feel like all we have is space, and I hate it. If you get to know Nate, you might feel differently about him. I hope you’d feel differently about who I am with him. Your opinion matters more than anyone’s.
Is part of the reason you were (are?) upset is that you found out along with everyone else? I wanted to tell you when we were alone, but I was worried about how you’d react. That’s on me. I’m sorry for that, and I’m sorry I called you an asshole.
I think what bothers you most is the idea that I’ve picked the wrong partner. I understand that. I’d feel the same if our situations were reversed. But I don’t know what to say or do to convince you otherwise. I don’t think I’m making a mistake. I hope that can be enough for you.
Please be my best man. I need you by my side, where you belong. I don’t want to do this without you.
Happy New Year.
Frankie
JANUARY 12, 2026
To: Frankie Gardiner
From: George Saint James
Subject: Re: Best man?
I should be the one apologizing.
I once promised to be your best friend, no matter what, and I intend to keep that promise.
I’d be honored to be your best man.
—G
TheCoast
Chapter Twelve
Day One: Wallow
“I’m ninety-nine percent positive I’m going to die on this road, but I’m not mad about it,” I say, gawking at a mist-draped valley. George and I are snaking our way to Tofino on Vancouver Island’s Pacific Rim Highway. The stretch between Port Alberni and the coast is notoriously winding, and now I see why. The scenery is stunning—crystal clear water, tremendous cedars, rocky riverbeds, and imposing mountains—but the road is giving major imminent-death vibes. I’ve never taken this many sharp twists and turns, especially not around a cliff, and the light drizzle and wet pavement aren’t reassuring. “Is that weird?”
