7. Klaus
KLAUS
Iknocked lightly on the door before cracking it open to find Evan sitting in a chair and having a drink and a smoke.
I sat and poured myself something, and he wordlessly offered me a cigarette, which I took and lit with the lighter he’d left on the coffee table.
“Do you ever think we need something harder?” I asked, puffing out the smoke from my cigarette.
“It’s all I have,” he muttered.
I chuckled and got up and went to my desk, where I unearthed something better than a cigarette.
I lit it, took a deep hit, before handing it to him.
He eyed it for a moment, his sunglasses off, before he took it and smoked.
“Sugar,” he murmured, blowing out the smoke.
“E gave it to me a few weeks ago. I tucked it away for a rainy day. I have an entire bag.”
The rush of the high flooded my body. I had to hand it to him. The guy knew how to make drugs. He’d pretty much taken over the seedy underbelly of the drug world. I was impressed.
Evan smoked some more before handing it back to me. I took a few more drags before letting him finish it off.
Then we drank quietly for a bit.
“How was your visit with E?” I finally asked.
“Painful,” he muttered before going quiet.
I nodded and didn’t push him on it. If there was one thing I’d learned about Evan over the years, it was that he spoke when he wanted to. Pushing didn’t do fuck all to make it happen faster.
“Klaus? Do you think it’s fucked up that I did all this?” he finally asked.
I sipped my drink. “Evan, do you think it’s fucked up?”
He frowned. “Yes. I always have, but I justified it by saying I was saving my girl.”
“I think the end justified the means, brother. I do. Is it fucked up? Sure, but you loved a woman and wanted to save her. And I personally am glad you did.”
He chuckled. “Because you got to be with her.”
I winked at him. “I’m biased, Evan. I love her.
I loved her the first time I saw her. Believe me, I struggled to hold it in for ages, especially since I was best friends with John and knew Callie.
It was hard. Really fucking hard.” I drank some more.
“But that’s not the point. The point is, we do both beautiful and terrible things for those we love.
It’s not fucked up so much as we can be victims of circumstance.
Had you told them, it wouldn’t have created this life. Do you regret this life?”
He shook his head. “No. I love what I have and would do it a million times over.”
“Even losing football?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Even losing football. I’m a firm believer in everything happening for a reason. I was meant to do this. To write. Tell stories. Change lives. I can still watch football and teach my son someday. I am more than happy with that.”
“Then back to the question. Is this fucked up?”
“Can both things exist at once? It could be fucked up but necessary.”
“Schrodinger’s fuck up,” I mused, refilling our glasses. “I like it. Both can exist at the same time, but until we rip off the bandage, there’s no way of knowing how much blood there will be.”
Evan sighed. “So time will tell?”
“Indeed. Cheers to fate, brother.” I held my glass up.
He chuckled and clinked his glass with mine. “To fate, the fucking bitch.”
We drank deeply.
She really was a bitch.