Rescuing My Best Friend’s Girl

2.RETURNING TO SEABROOK

ALEX

The wind bites at my face as I maneuver my way down the steep, rocky incline. Somewhere below, the faint sound of a woman’s voice carries upward—weak and terrified. The canyon walls close in around me, their sheer drop amplifying every sound: the crunch of my boots against loose gravel, the rustle of the harness clipped to my pack, and the labored breathing of my teammate, Reed, a few paces behind me.

“I’ve got visual on her,” I call into my radio. My voice is even-toned, practiced. The SAR training kicks in, keeping me calm despite the situation. “Female, late twenties, conscious but disoriented. Looks like a sprained ankle. She’s about thirty feet from the ledge. We’ll need the stretcher.”

Reed’s voice crackles back. “Copy that. I’ll prep the gear.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me, and continue my descent. The woman clings to a jagged outcrop, her face pale, streaked with tears. Her hands tremble, and I can tell she’s barely holding it together.

“Hey,” I say, my voice carrying a gentle certainty. “I’m Alex, with Search and Rescue. You’re going to be okay. What’s your name?”

She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide with fear. “Claire,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“Okay, Claire. You’re doing great. Just hang tight. I’m almost there.” I keep my tone measured. Every step closer matters—not just physically, but emotionally. If she believes I’m in control, she’ll feel safer.

As I reach her, I kneel, anchoring myself against the rock face. My gloved hands move quickly, assessing her injuries. “Looks like a sprain,” I confirm. “We’ll get you splinted and out of here in no time. Do you remember how you got here?”

She shakes her head, tears spilling over. “I was hiking alone … I thought I’d be fine … but I slipped.”

“Happens to the best of us,” I reassure her. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Within minutes, Reed arrives with the stretcher, and working together in tandem, my every action complementing his, we secure Claire, stabilize her ankle, and prepare for the hoist. As the helicopter’s rotor blades beat overhead, kicking up dust and loose debris, I glance down at Claire one last time before she’s lifted.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell her. “We’ve got you.”

The relief in her eyes stays with me long after the chopper disappears over the horizon.

This was the kind of mission that reminded me why I couldn’t walk away from rescue work completely. When I left the Coast Guard, I thought I was done saving lives, that I wasn’t worthy of the noble task I felt called to.

But the pull to serve, to be the one standing between life and death, never really left me. That’s how I ended up here—Search and Rescue gave me a second chance at a purpose, a way to use my skills without such high risk of losing someone because of what I did or didn’t do. Maybe I was looking for redemption by hiding behind what I thought I was meant to do, but the choice made sense to me where I was in my life.

The room is cold, the kind of sterile chill that seeps into your bones. My uniform hangs heavily on me today, the insignia on my chest a reminder of everything I’m about to leave behind.

I’m released from my rigid at-attention stance by Captain Harris’s, “As you were.” My superior officer assesses me from across his desk, his eyes like polished steel, sharp and perceptive, the kind of look that sees straight through excuses.

“You’re requesting an honorable discharge?” His tone remains even, but something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, maybe. I swallow hard and nod. “Yes, sir. After … what happened to Tanner yesterday, I don’t believe I can give this job one hundred percent anymore. And if I can’t do that, I’m a liability to the team.”

Captain Harris leans back in his chair, studying me. “What happened to Tanner was a tragedy, Alex. But it wasn’t your fault.”

My fists clench and unclench at my sides. “It was my mission. My responsibility.”

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I will put in for an honorable discharge on the grounds of mental health and duress immediately. I’m sure you will experience PTSD. Alex, you will be evaluated and diagnosed, and a treatment plan will be designed for you. I recommend you follow the plan to the letter. This will help with follow-up through the VA, as well as helping you on your emotional journey.” His voice softens at his last comment. “But you need to know this: we’re losing an exceptionally impressive Coast Guardsman in you. Take care of yourself, Turner.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, my voice outwardly composed and controlled, but inside, I feel like I’m fracturing.

The first day of SAR training is brutal. It’s not the physical demands that get to me—those are second nature after years in the Coast Guard. It’s the mental toll, the constant reminders of what I’m trying to leave behind. At night, the memories creep in—Tanner’s laugh, his loyal presence, the trust he placed in me.

I add to the list in my notebook, something to focus on when the guilt feels overwhelming:

~Leadership under pressure

~Navigation and survival skills

~Medical response training

~Rope and water rescues

These are the skills I’m honing, the tools I’ll use to save lives—the way I couldn’t save Tanner.

Mere months later, I stand among my peers at the SAR graduation ceremony. My uniform is different now, the patch on my sleeve a new symbol of purpose. I’ve completed the Basic SAR Course, the Tech Certification, and finished the SAR swimming and helicopter rescue courses. The training officer shakes my hand, welcoming me officially. For the first time in what seems like forever, I feel a sense of pride.

But pride isn’t enough. I need to put these skills to use, to make a difference—for people I know and care about. Seabrook is where I was born, and I’m hoping it can be where this new beginning in my life will start. And maybe, just maybe, I can prove to myself that I can be the kind of man Tanner believed I was. If I’m ever going to forgive myself, I have to start there.

The drive to Seabrook feels endless, like a ribbon of asphalt unraveling beneath my tires, each mile a reminder of the distance between who I was and who I’m trying to become. The closer I get to my hometown, the more the memories close in like the walls of a canyon, leaving me surrounded with no way out.

Jo’s face flashes in my mind—her laughter, her stubbornness, the way she used to scold me for skipping class.

I think about the night I told her I was leaving to join the Coast Guard. We were seventeen, standing in a meadow just outside of Seabrook, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers filling the air as the stars blinked down at us. A night that should have been ordinary, but instead became one I would never forget.

“You’re leaving?” Her voice broke, a quiet tremor of disbelief woven through her words, and it killed me. We stood facing each other, our hands joined, and I caressed her velvety skin, trying to communicate without words how the fact that I couldn’t take her with me was breaking my heart.

“I have to,” I said, barely able to meet her eyes, afraid of the pain I’d see there. “I can’t stay here, Jo. I need to be more than this.”

“More than us?”

Her question was quiet, but the power of the sadness behind it nearly brought me to my knees. The unspoken plea, the desperate hope that I would take it all back, that I would change my mind. That I would stay.

I wanted to say no to leaving Jo. To reach for her, to promise her that I’d come back. But I couldn’t. I’d already decided, and if I gave her any hope, I’d break us both. So, I stood there, silent, letting the moment stretch between us like the endless sky above, knowing that no matter what I said, this was the turning point that would change everything.

She turned away first, and the ache that settled deep in my chest that night never really left.

Seabrook hasn’t changed much. The Good Thymes Diner is still the heart of the town, its red-and-white awning a beacon for gossip and pancakes. I sit in the corner booth, listening to the murmurs around me.

“Alex Turner’s back? You mean the troublemaker?”

“Yeah, but he’s different now. Coast Guard, Search and Rescue. Maybe he’s finally grown up.”

“Or maybe he’s still the same kid who broke half the town’s rules.”

I grit my teeth, focusing on my coffee. They’re not wrong about who I was, but they don’t know who I’ve become.

The wedding is in a few hours, and I’m not sure I’m ready. Luke’s been like a brother to me, and being here to celebrate him and Grace feels right. But the thought of seeing Jo again … that’s something I haven’t prepared for.

The reception buzzes with quiet conversation and laughter, but my focus is elsewhere. My eyes scan the crowd instinctively, a habit I can’t shake. Then, in an instant, I see her.

Jo Richards.

She’s beautiful, more beautiful than I remember, and I’m rocked to my core, as if a freight train has just slammed into me, an immovable force that is both palpable and unescapable. She moves through the chairs with hurried steps, her expression unreadable.

In her rush to leave, she bumps into me where I am standing behind the rows of chairs set up to face the wedding arch.

“Sorry—” she begins, then freezes.

The brief touch of her body against mine sends a shock through me, a jolt of heat and memory colliding at once. It’s not just physical—it’s a reminder of every moment we’ve shared, every regret that still haunts me.

She looks up at me, her eyes widening as recognition sets in. For a moment, neither of us moves. Our surroundings blur into obscurity, leaving only the two of us, alone in the crowd, faced with the undeniable reality of living in the same town, our lives being thrown together once more.

“Jo,” I say, my voice husky and slightly hesitant. “It’s been too long. You look … beautiful.”

I stumble over the words, unable to mask the uncertainty coursing through me. My gaze shifts between her face and the ground, unsure of what to say or how to make up for lost time.

She goes still, her breath catching as her gaze meets mine. I’m immersed in her hazel eyes, which are locked onto my own, shifting like autumn leaves caught in golden sunlight, warm, rich, luminous and impossible to look away from.

They’re filled with so much emotion—guilt, longing, and an expression I’ve seen before that slams into me like an unexpected landslide, sudden and unstoppable, grabbing everything in its path. It’s the way she used to look at me in high school, like her love for me was the only thing that existed in that moment.

“Alex,” she whispers. Then, as if catching herself, she shakes her head and takes a few steps back. Before I can stop her, she turns and walks away, her pace quickening, sand crunching underfoot.

I don’t hesitate.

“Jo, wait,” I say gently, reaching out to brush my hand against her elbow. She stops. The moment stretches between us, so much to say, but everything left unsaid.

“Can I walk you to your car?” I ask. “I’d like to talk.”

She shrugs, a gesture that feels distant, detached, and starts walking again. I fall into step beside her, hands shoved deep into my pockets to keep from reaching for her again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner,” I say, remorse in my voice. “I wanted to be here for the funeral, but … I just couldn’t.”

She glances at me briefly, then back at the path ahead. “I needed you here, Alex,” she says.

“Jo, I understand that now. I should have come. I just—” I exhale, shaking my head. “I didn’t know how to face you.”

She halts mid-step, her posture stiff, unreadable. My insides feel hollow when I see doubt and distrust in her eyes.

“Jo, I hated myself for leaving. Then I hated myself even more for feeling like I still had a claim to you, even when I knew I didn’t. You were my first love. My only love. But Tanner got to be the one by your side, and I had to live with that.”

I falter, my throat constricting, but I force the words out anyway. “And I still … care. I still…” The confession catches in my throat, too raw, too dangerous to finish.

She doesn’t let me. “Well, life happens, doesn’t it?” Her voice is clipped, but her hands curl slightly at her sides, betraying her. “No use dwelling on what we can’t change.”

She turns toward her car, but her hesitation hangs in the air like an unfinished sentence. My hands ball into fists. I should stop her, say something to fix this before she’s gone again—but I don’t know how.

She pauses with her hand on the car door, glancing back at me. And that look—it guts me. It’s bare, unguarded, leaving her heart out in the open for me to read, and I feel the ache right along with her.

“Alex.” My name is barely a whisper from her lips. Then she sighs, the fight draining from her shoulders, and she slides into the car.

When she looks back at me in her mirror, I see in her eyes the same questions I’ve been asking myself since the day I left: do I even have a right to feel this way?

Is there a way forward for us, or is it too late?