Free Resolve by J.J. Hensley

had met her on several occasions, and he and Tabatha had had us over for dinner more than once. Since his wife’s death we hadn’t visited him, but that was to be expected. I instantly forgave his suspicions because I supposed that at his age he had seen plenty of men screw up their marriages for three minutes of pleasure. I mean thirty minutes. If it were me, of course.
    “No. Nothing like that.” I chose not to tell him about her interest in me. “But they started asking me about Lindsay possibly having a relationship with Steven Thacker.”
    “The graduate assistant you can’t stand?”
    I thought about arguing about my level of dislike for Steven, but I quashed the thought, remembering how many times I had bitched about him to Jacob.
    I nodded in affirmation.
    “So? Was he seeing her?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Positive . . .” I tried to continue but Jacob beat me to the punch.
    “Because you know you never really know a person. He could have been hiding it from you. He is a graduate assistant after all, and the university policy . . .”
    I couldn’t go through this again.
    Keeping my voice to a loud whisper, “He’s gay, Jacob. He wasn’t seeing Lindsay. I’m sure. One hundred percent—no doubt about it—would bet my house on it—certain.”
    Jacob raised his eyebrows and gave a slight nod. His expression then became quizzical.
    “Well then, what’s the problem? You weren’t involved with her and neither was your grad assistant.”
    There was a flush, and we waited while the relieved student passed by our aisle and left the locker room. He didn’t wash his hands. I hate that.
    I explained how Steven was not openly gay and how I had managed to broadcast his sexual preference on a Goodyear blimp. Jacob sat on the nearest bench, looking down at the tiles contemplatively. I could tell that he was playing out multiple scenarios in his head.
    “It’s going to get around, you know. This university isn’t as sensitive to political correctness as most, but this could cause big trouble for you. Especially if Steven makes a formal complaint against you.”
    “I know. I was thinking about trying to get in front of this thing.”
    “Absolutely.” Jacob agreed. “You may as well be open and contrite now. You made a mistake, but this isn’t the end of the world. You need to take this up the chain and explain the circumstances.”
    “You’re forgetting that I’m not exactly considered the golden child over at Castle Silo.”
    I was referring to the impressive-looking Whitlock Building that housed the Office of Academic Affairs. Dean Silo had never been a fan of mine and the feeling was mutual. The university’s unique regulations allowed the individual academic departments to hire and fire their own faculty members, and Silo was relegated to only making recommendations. During my employee orientation, I had met with him and immediately picked up on some feelings of animosity. Subsequently, I would run into him at various faculty functions and the negative vibes only worsened. So I spent most of the first few months at the school slightly curious as to why I rubbed the dean the wrong way, but it honestly didn’t bother me too much.
    At some point I made some offhand remark about the dean’s lack of affection for me to Jacob, who I knew was close with Silo. Jacob confided in me that Silo had been pushing for one of his close personal friends—a very well-known professor at Duke—to get the position that I eventually obtained. Despite having achieved a pretty good reputation for my PhD work, on paper alone, I wouldn’t have stood a chance against this guy.
    We were both interviewed for the job, and the Criminology staff felt my competitor brought with him the attitude that he was going to come up to the Steel City and show the local, small-time professors how things were really supposed to be done. The man from North Carolina carried on for forty-five minutes about “fixing” the