CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CONSEQUENCES & SUPPORT
Elise
Teddy drives me back to his apartment in silence, which is somehow worse than if he’d yelled.
I’m curled up in his passenger seat wearing yesterday’s clothes and approximately three layers of dried tears on my face. Very attractive. Very together. Exactly how you want your older brother to see you.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” he finally asks as we pull into his parking lot.
“Housing found out. About—everything.”
“Everything meaning—”
“Me and Grant and Wyatt and Jordie. Yeah.”
He parks. Turns off the engine. Sits there for a second with his hands on the wheel.
“Okay.”
“That’s it? Just okay?”
“What do you want me to say, Ellie? I already knew.”
“You—what?”
“I’m not blind. I saw how they looked at you. How you looked at them.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to know the details, but I knew.”
“And you’re not—I don’t know—freaking out?”
“Oh, I’m freaking out. Just internally. Like an adult.” He looks at me then. “Are they good to you?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“And you’re happy?”
My throat tightens. “I was.”
“Past tense?”
“Grant told me to move out. Said it was the only way to protect everyone’s futures.” I’m crying again. Great. “So I guess we’re done.”
Teddy’s quiet for a long moment. Then he release a slow, tense breath. “That idiot.”
“Which one?”
“Grant. Obviously. He’s been in love with you for years and he’s gonna blow it because he’s scared.” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on. You need food and a shower. In that order.”
I’m halfway through a grilled cheese when my phone starts blowing up.
I turned it back on an hour ago. Mistake.
47 missed calls 152 text messages Instagram: 23 new notifications Twitter: You’ve been mentioned 47 times
“Uh, Teddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Why is my phone having a seizure?”
He looks at his own phone. Goes pale. “Oh no.”
“What?”
He turns his screen toward me.
CRESTMONT HOCKEY PLAYERS IN POLYAMOROUS RELATIONSHIP
It’s a headline. From the campus newspaper. With a photo.
Of all four of us.
From last week, walking into the townhouse. Grant’s got his arm around my waist. Jordie’s kissing my temple. Wyatt’s carrying my bag and looking at me like I hung the moon.
We look happy. We look together. We look exactly like what we are.
Were.
Whatever.
“Who—” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Keep scrolling.”
I do. The article is—extensive. Anonymous sources from the hockey team. Details about our living arrangement. Quotes from “concerned students” about appropriate conduct.
And at the bottom: Story continues: Medical student’s unconventional relationship raises questions about professional ethics
My stomach turns over.
“They’re connecting it to my med school applications.”
“Yeah.”
I keep scrolling. Twitter is worse. So much worse.
@CrestmontDaily: brEAKING: Captain Grant Wilder confirmed in relationship with THREE teammates and one female student
@HockeyNation: Is this what college athletics has come to? Disgraceful.
@Student4567: Good for them tbh. Let people love who they want
@CrestmontAlum82: This is why we can’t have nice things. Wilder should lose his captaincy.
It goes on. And on. And on.
“I need to call them.” I’m already dialing Grant’s number with shaking hands.
It goes to voicemail.
I try Wyatt. Voicemail.
Jordie. Voicemail.
“They’re not answering.”
“They’re probably getting the same treatment you are.” Teddy’s scrolling on his own phone now. “This is—this is national, Ellie. Sports blogs are picking it up. There’s already a think piece on ESPN about polyamory in college athletics.”
I’m gonna be sick.
My phone rings. Unknown number.
I answer without thinking. “Hello?”
“Miss Hart? This is Dr. Patricia Choi from Johns Hopkins School of Medicine.”
My heart stops.
“We’ve become aware of some—circumstances—regarding your personal life that have recently become public.”
“Dr. Choi, I can explain—”
“I’m calling to inform you that we’re rescinding your interview invitation.”
The world tilts.
“What?”
“The admissions committee feels that your current situation raises concerns about judgment and professionalism that are incompatible with—”
I hang up.
Just hang up on Johns Hopkins.
On my dream school.
On everything I’ve worked for.
“Ellie?” Teddy’s voice sounds far away.
“They rescinded my interview.”
“What?”
“Johns Hopkins. They don’t want me anymore.” I’m laughing but it’s not a funny laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that means you’re about to have a complete breakdown. “Because I fell in love with three guys and the internet decided I’m a slut.”
“You’re not—”
“Doesn’t matter what I am. Matters what they think I am.” I stand up. Sit back down. Stand up again. “I need to—I don’t know what I need.”
My phone rings again. Different number.
“Don’t answer it,” Teddy says.
I answer it anyway.
“Elise Hart?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jennifer Martinez from Channel 7 News. We’d love to get your perspective on—”
I hang up.
It rings again immediately.
And again.
And again.
“Turn it off,” Teddy says. “Just turn it off.”
I do. But my laptop is still open on his coffee table and I can see the notifications piling up on social media.
This is a nightmare.
This is my life imploding in real time and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“I need to go back.” I’m already grabbing my keys. “I need to talk to them. We need to figure out—”
“You need to stay here and let this blow over.”
“It’s not going to blow over, Teddy. This is—” I gesture at the laptop. “This is everywhere. They’re talking about me like I’m—like I’m some kind of—”
“Hey.” He grabs my shoulders. Forces me to look at him. “You’re not anything except a person who fell in love. Multiple times. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Try telling that to Johns Hopkins.”
“I will if I have to.”
Despite everything, that makes me smile. Small and broken, but still.
My laptop dings. Email notification.
FROM: University Health Services SUBJECT: Mandatory Counseling Appointment
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
I open it. Scan the contents.
“They’re mandating relationship counseling. For all four of us. Weekly sessions until the end of the semester.”
“That’s—actually that’s probably good,” Teddy says carefully.
“Good? We’re being treated like we’re sick. Like there’s something wrong with us that needs to be fixed.”
“Or like you’re four people in a complicated relationship who could use professional support navigating it.”
I hate that he has a point.
Another email.
FROM: Dean Morrison SUBJECT: Community Service Requirement
“Community service. Fifty hours each. To be completed by end of semester.”
“For what? Falling in love?”
“For violating housing policy,” Teddy reads over my shoulder. “At least they’re not expelling you.”
“Yet.”
I turn my phone back on. Sixteen voicemails.
The first three are reporters.
The fourth is from my mother. I delete it without listening.
The fifth is Wyatt.
“Elise. I don’t—I don’t know if you’re seeing any of this but—we’re trying to fix it. Just—please call me back. Please.”
His voice is wrecked. Desperate.
The sixth is Jordie.
“So uh, my mom called the dean. Yeah. That happened. She’s—she’s going full Senator’s wife mode and honestly it’s kind of terrifying but also awesome? Anyway. Call me. Or text me. Or—just let me know you’re okay. We’re gonna fix this, baby.”
The seventh is Grant.
There’s a long pause before he speaks.
“I’m sorry. For this morning. For telling you to leave. For—everything. I was scared and I said things I didn’t mean and now everything’s blown up and I—” Another pause. “I love you. I need you to know that. Whatever happens, I love you. We all do.”
I’m crying again. Awesome.
The eighth voicemail is from a number I don’t recognize.
“Miss Hart, this is Senator Dickson. Jordie’s father.
I’ve been made aware of the situation and I’ve placed a call to the university president.
This is—well, it’s unorthodox, but my son is happy.
And that matters more than politics or optics or whatever the hell else people are worried about. Call him back. He’s worried about you.”
I play it again just to make sure I heard right.
Jordie’s dad—the man who wanted him in law school, who cares about optics and campaigns and legacy—just called the university president. For us.
“Did you hear that?” I look at Teddy.
“I heard it.”
“His dad. His dad called.”
“Sounds like you’ve got some people in your corner.”
The sixteenth voicemail is from Carol. The housing administrator.
“Miss Hart. I—this isn’t official, understand?
But I wanted you to know that the four of you aren’t being evicted.
Dean Morrison has agreed to let you stay in the townhouse under certain conditions.
Counseling, community service, and—well, you’ll get the formal email.
But I wanted you to hear it from me first. You’re not losing your housing. ”
I sit down hard on Teddy’s couch.
“We’re not being evicted.”
“That’s good, right?”
“That’s—I don’t know what that is.”
My laptop dings again. This time it’s the campus newspaper website refreshing with a new article.
HOCKEY TEAM DIVIDED OVER CAPTAIN’S RELATIONSHIP
I click it even though I know I shouldn’t.
Sources within the Crestmont hockey team reveal a split over Captain Grant Wilder’s unconventional relationship. “Some guys think it’s a distraction,” one anonymous player stated. “We’re in the middle of playoffs and all anyone wants to talk about is who he’s sleeping with.”
However, others have rallied in support. “Grant’s personal life is his business,” said junior defenseman Pierce Thompson. “He’s the best captain we’ve had in years. That doesn’t change because he’s in love.”
The team will vote tonight on whether Wilder retains his captaincy.
“They’re voting on whether to keep him as captain.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I’m already grabbing my jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?”
“Ellie—”