As soon as I get back to my car, I call Beck three times, finally leaving a message just asking her to call me back. Then I call her parents. It’s ridiculous, but what can I do? All these years of looking after her aren’t going to just melt away overnight, and she was so upset when she stormed off. I just need them to be looking out for her. They’re her parents.

So this is what I tell myself while I’m talking to Mrs. Lowell about how Beck left for home upset and I can’t reach her. She sounds worried, but says they’ll take care of it. I breathe a sigh of relief and head for home, playing the crazy events of the night over in my head.

My phone dings just as I pull into my driveway. I check and it’s a text from Tasha.

Hope everything went okay with you two lovebirds.

I shake my head. What a weird girl. Crazy part is, I like her. She’d fit right in with me and my friends.

I botched it but I’ll work it out. Thanks for being so cool. You’re a great person.

Her return text makes me laugh. That’s what all the guys say. Right before/after they run off to win the heart of some other girl. ;) No hard feelings. I really hope you guys work it out.

I slip in the back door and turn toward the basement stairs. My room’s been down there since middle school—a perfect haven for a tween boy, and easy to sneak girls in once I got to high school and started being into that sort of thing.

But tonight, all I want is some alone time, time to think about how I’m going to win Beck over. Because I’m determined: she’s going to be mine, in every way. I’ve been an idiot, but that’s over now.

“Garrett.”

My dad’s voice is unexpected; I start a bit, then recover.

“I need to speak with you,” he says.

I just look at him for a moment. “Uh, okay?” I say. “I was headed—”

“I won’t take much of your time.” He turns and heads through the kitchen, then down the hallway toward his den.

Okay, then. Looks like it’s not optional. And I really hope it’s not about what I think it’s about.

I follow him into the den. The furniture in here is dark and heavy—leather chairs and big mahogany desk and tables. I take the seat my dad indicates with a waved hand. He sits behind his desk, steeples his fingers together, and regards me solemnly. I bet he’s an absolute killer in the courtroom. I’m squirming in my chair after thirty seconds.

“So,” he says, finally. “I’ve had a call a bit ago, from Jeff Lowell.”

Oh, fuck.

“Okay,” I say. “I don’t suppose he just called to say hello?”

“That’s enough of that.”

The weight of his disappointment descends on me full-force. I can practically feel myself shrinking in my chair, to about the size of an eight-year-old. The eight-year-old who sat in this very chair and promised to take care of Beck, actually. Promised to make sure she was safe and happy.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just trying to lighten things up.”

“This isn’t a joking matter. Talk to me about Rebecca.”

“I don’t … I mean … Dad.” I shrug. “I’m not going to talk to you about that.”

“Do you think that I’m asking you out of prurient interest?” he snaps. “I’m not looking for a play-by-play, Garrett. What I want to know—in as little detail as possible, actually—is what went on with you and Rebecca. In Boston, and since then, and especially tonight. Jeff says that she came home crying.”

I feel all the air go out of me. “I upset her tonight, but I didn’t mean—”

“Start at the beginning,” he says. Yeah, definitely slays in court, my dad.

I tell him, as concisely as possible. “We had too much to drink, and ended up in bed together. And I didn’t handle it well, because I was confused and worried about losing her as a friend.”

“How drunk was she, Garrett?” His tone is serious, his look even more so. He’s a lawyer; I know what he’s asking.

“Drunk enough to make bad decisions,” I say, “but they were her decisions.”

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“Dad!” I throw my hands up. “I asked her, like, a hundred times. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good,” he says. “I expected no less, but you understand I have to ask? Jeff was … unclear on that.”

Oh, fuck. Now Beck’s dad thinks I took advantage of her? Christ.

“Well, I’m clear on it,” I say. “She was pretty wasted—we both were—but she knew what she was doing, and she said as much to me, very plainly, the next day.”

“Okay. And tonight?” He lifts his eyebrows at me. “I understand you were quite insensitive.”

“I—” Ugh. “I asked her to double date with me and another girl.”

“I guess that explains why she went home crying,” he deadpans.

“No,” I say, without thinking, “that was because I kissed her.”

His eyebrows disappear up around his hairline. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not telling it right—”

He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “I’ve heard all I need to. And I’m very, very disappointed in you, son.” Leaning back, he regards me solemnly. “I believe I’ve impressed on you—your mother and I have both impressed on you, since you were small—that Rebecca is family. Family, Garrett. Not someone for you to toy with.”

“I’m not—”

“Whether you mean to or not, this is precisely what you’ve done. The girl is a mess. Jeff and Cheryl are both furious with you. As am I. As will your mother be, when I tell her tomorrow.”

My whole face is flaming. There’s something uniquely emasculating about your sex life being a hot topic of discussion between people who changed your diapers. “Aw, come on. Do you have to—”

“Absolutely,” he says. “Tell me this: what do you intend to do going forward?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I haven’t even talked to Beck. I don’t know what she wants, what she feels—though God knows I have hopes. So many hopes.

But I can’t tell that stuff to my dad. I don’t know what I’m going to do; that’s the truth, so that’s what I say.

“I have no idea,” I tell him. “But—”

“Let me help, then,” he says. “I want you to leave her alone, Garrett. And I’m sure your mother will agree with me. I know for a fact that Jeff and Cheryl do.”

My heart sinks. If Beck’s parents want me to stay away from Beck, and Beck won’t take my calls, how am I supposed to get anywhere with her? I fell in love with my best friend, for God’s sake; I’m not a complicated guy. I’m not cut out for star-crossed love and Romeo-and-Juliet shit.

“Now, if you were in a position to truly make some kind of commitment to Rebecca, that might be a different story.” Dad leans forward again and pins me with his gaze. “We all—your mother and I, Jeff and Cheryl—consider each other and you children family. There were always good-natured jokes when you were young about how we should arrange a marriage. I think, for your mother at least, they weren’t always just jokes. She loves that girl. So do I. She’s already a daughter to me in many ways.”

I stare at him in horror. I just figured out I was in love with her an hour ago, for crying out loud. I’m not ready to have this conversation.

And if I did want to have this conversation, I think, I’d be having it with Beck. This isn’t Dad’s business yet.

“So when I talked to Jeff, what I was thinking was, how would I feel if this was my daughter? What would I want to see the young man in this situation do?” He watches me steadily while I try not to visibly flinch. “And what I thought is what I’m telling you now: I would want him to think carefully about how he felt about the young lady in question, what the right thing to do would be. I would want him to be honest with himself, honest with her, and honest with all the people involved. Because,” he continues, “if what you have to offer Rebecca is the same as you offer the other young women you bring home—or, God forbid, the many young women you spend time with who don’t make it to the ‘meet the parents’ stage—then I want you to leave Rebecca alone.”

If the floor could open up and swallow me, I’d welcome it. I did not start this day out thinking I’d be having a conversation like this with my father. Not even a conversation, really. More a lecture.

He doesn’t say anything for long enough that I figure I’m supposed to be the one talking now. But what can I say? Finally, I manage: “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then don’t,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He stands and walks around the desk, opens the door to his office. “You’d probably best get some sleep. Things might look a little clearer in the morning.”

It’s not all that late, but I nod, if for no other reason than to get out of this office. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry you had to get that call.”

“I’m sorry as well. This is not the kind of behavior I expect from you—at least not with regards to Rebecca. Figure it out, son.”

I nod again. “I will,” I say, and then make my escape out into the hallway and back toward my room. I pause in the kitchen and, after a moment, I can hear him walking up the stairs. As far as talkings-to, that wasn’t the worst, I guess. I’m really too old for grounding, or taking things away.

Well … other than my self-respect. And from that angle, this talk was the worst. Because I feel like absolute shit. I wasn’t trying to toy with Beck, but of course that’s how it’s got to look to her. She’s not in my stupid, crazy head while I’m coming up with idiotic plan about double dates, or figuring out important stuff like I’m in love with you.

Now I have to figure out how to make this right—or stay completely away from her.

And that second one is not going to happen.