the actress & the athlete | sam kerr

ten

a/n: hey babes, this chapter is so diddy but I couldn't leave that cliffhanger. manifesting sham happiness (worst ship name ever). please fasten your seatbelts for the world's best emotional rollercoaster 🎢

sheva's pov

a light knock penetrated the hollow of my mahogany door and when opening it, toothbrush in mouth, I was confronted with margaret and sam, who both shared an equal sheepish look of dread.

I looked at margaret.

I looked at sam.

"y'all good?"

"wait, why aren't you crying or sad?" margaret's manner turned to perplexity with a question that isn't typically asked. ever. such a way with words.

"should I be?" my eyebrows furrowed, putting my toothbrush in my pot and trading it for floss, not before opening the door wider, gesturing margaret and sam to come in.

I knew what they were referencing, of course, but I had no idea what conclusions they had jumped to.

"well what about all the celine dion and the candles and the silent treatment and gay panic and skeletons in the closet." margaret's never ending tangent about why I was sad could have been a nobel-prize winning speech if you think about it, actually.

"it's me, I'm the skeleton in the closet." I waved and sam laughed under her breath, the two now sitting on the end of the bed as I pottered around the room, picking up laundry and kicking it to the door in my best as a striker so far (not).

"first of all, love celine dion, can't get enough of her. I was raised on musical theatre guys, seriously? also... nothing wrong with candles, don't knock the ambiance of self-care. take it all in because it's jo malone." I leaned over giving them a chance to smell the peony scent before continuing.

"while I am gay and panicking, and while there are many a skeleton in the closet, I was expecting much worse than a "keep it on the low" lecture and a facetime call from my bubbe screaming mazel tov at the synagogue. everything is fine. for now."

the tension in the room disintegrated. I had no idea other people were carrying my burden's to this extent, but it felt good to spread my troubles out so thinly. margaret stayed a while, flattering me with kind words, promising to always be by my side no matter what, waiting on me with drinks and food (from my fridge, obviously) and then finally said goodbye. I wrapped her in a tight hug before shutting the door and facing sam for the first time since everything blew up.

she looked a mess. and that was hard for sam. she always looked perfect.

"I didn't even think we'd get around to our first proper date after today." she spoke up, more jovial than before as I turned to face her.

"I thought we'd already had dates."

"jesus christ, batsheva, what girls have you dated where a first date is getting off in a leaky tunnel off the back of dinner with friends?" she gave me a playful look of disgust. retorting, I gave her a long blank stare.

"I can accept the suggestion that my standards are low, but the full title sam? you're literally so dead."

with that I jumped onto the bed, grabbing a pillow as I fell down, whacking sam with the undisguised sound of goose feathers. her immediate response being to tickle me on my sides. we were crying with laughter, a stark contrast to earlier this morning when we were so uncertain. in between giggles I caught her lips, despite not being able to breathe as it was. we calmed into a state of bliss, relief and happiness. snuggling down with our favourite shows and eating snacks, the favourite pastime of all secret couples. if we had margaret's home rock climbing wall, we may have had something better to do. but instead I had her, sour patch kids and real housewives. what more could I need?

"so, just so we're clear. you're asking me on a date?"

"where did you get that idea?"

"oh come on sam!"

"hmmm okay, well let's see, we have a game tomorrow afternoon. would you like to go for coffee with me after?"

"I would love that, sammy."