Page 122 of Triple Play
Dean Morrison’s expression doesn’t change. “No one forced you into a relationship, Mr. Wilder.”
“No, but you forced us to live together. Four adults in close quarters for months. What the hell did you think would happen?”
“I think we expected you to demonstrate basic self-control.”
The words hang there. Ugly and sharp.
Jordie stands up next. “With all due respect, Dean Morrison, that’s—” He stops himself. Takes a breath. “We’re adults. We’re not breaking any laws. We’re not hurting anyone. What we do in our private residence shouldn’t be the university’s business.”
“It’s university property, and it becomes the university’s business when you violate a contract you signed.”
“Under duress,” I add, standing too. “I had nowhere else to live. The semester had started. You gave me two choices: live with them or defer enrollment. That’s not exactly voluntary.”
Carol at least has the decency to look uncomfortable.
Dean Morrison doesn’t. “Nevertheless, you signed. And now we need a resolution.”
Wyatt’s the last to stand. When he does, there’s something in his expression that makes the temperature in the room drop. “You said option one was accepting consequences. What consequences, exactly?”
“As I mentioned—”
“No. Specifically. What happens to each of us?”
Dean Morrison exchanges a glance with Carol. “Miss Hart would face academic probation for the remainder of the semester. Her applications to medical schools would need to include a disclosure of the disciplinary action.”
My stomach turns over.
“Mr. Carter, your athletic scholarship would be reviewed by the committee. No guarantees it would be renewed.”
Wyatt’s face goes blank. Completely blank.
“Mr. Dickson, similar review. And Mr. Wilder, as team captain and the senior resident of the townhouse, you would face the most severe consequences. Possible suspension from athletic activities pending investigation.”
“Which means I miss playoffs,” Grant says flatly.
“Potentially, yes.”
“And the draft. Scouts are coming specifically to watch playoffs.”
“That’s not my concern, Mr. Wilder.”
Something in Grant’s expression shutters. “Right. Of course not.”
We’re all standing now, facing them across the desk like battle lines have been drawn.
“You have until Friday to decide,” Dean Morrison says. “Either Miss Hart moves out voluntarily, or we proceed with formal charges.”
“That’s two days,” I say.
“Yes.”
“You can’t expect us to—”
“I can and I am.” He stands, effectively dismissing us. “Friday, 5 PM. Email your decision to Carol. Until then, I strongly suggest you maintain separate sleeping arrangements. We’ll be conducting random checks.”
“Random checks?” Jordie’s voice goes up. “You can’t just—”
“We can, Mr. Dickson. This is university property. You have no expectation of privacy.”
