“Oh sweet God,” I groan, stretching out my aching legs on the chaise in the backyard. My knees pop. My ankle cracks. Fuck, it feels good to put my feet up.
“Your ice pack, sir.” Oliver sets it on my aggravated knee. “And your heating pad.” He wedges that between my lower back and the chaise. “And my favorite spot.” He eases onto the chaise, then shimmies my way until he’s leaning his back against my chest, wrapping my arms around him.
Then and only then do I feel his body relax, a long, contented sigh leave him. I press a kiss to his temple and stare up at the stars, my heart so impossibly full. “I love the fuck out of you, Oliver Bergman.”
I feel his smile as he nuzzles his temple against my jaw. “I love the fuck out of you, too, Gavin Hayes.” Peering up at me, he slips his hand along my neck, into my hair, scratching affectionately along my scalp. “That was a good wedding.”
I grunt in agreement, running my hand over his chest, kissing his temple again. “Great food, great music and dancing, didn’t run too late. The trifecta of party perfection.”
“Mhmm.” He presses a kiss to my jaw, then settles in against me. “You’re a good dancer.”
“Damn right, I am.”
He snorts a laugh. “And humble as always.”
“You are, too. And if you think I missed those rainbow argyle socks you snuck on, I didn’t.”
“Damn,” he says. “How’d you spot them?”
“Your ‘Electric Slide’ moves. A sartorial technicolor eyesore is what those were. You couldn’t for once do what you were told and wear a tux and appropriate dress socks.”
He grins. “You like my sartorial technicolor eyesores.”
I grin, too. “I do. I love them, actually. I could find you in the blink of an eye all the way across the dance floor.”
Sighing happily, Oliver glides his hand down the nape of my neck, rubbing those tight, sore muscles. “Your place or mine tonight?” he asks.
“Mine. Wilde is going to start pissing in more than my shoes if I don’t show my face soon.”
Oliver grimaces. “Sorry. I’ve been hogging you at my place.”
I swallow the threat of nerves, threading our hands together, sliding our fingers along each other’s. “We could…have one place together. Someday.”
Oliver’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine. A new, precious smile that I’ve never seen before warms his face. “Seriously?”
I feel a ridiculous smile lighting up my face, too. “Seriously. I know it’s fast. And I don’t…I mean, it’s not like hugely pressing if you didn’t want, but if you did want, I may have hired an architect to scope out various options for merging our bungalows into one home. For us.”
Oliver sits up, then spins and faces me. “You did?”
“I mean they’re just rough plans—”
His kiss silences me as he whispers against my mouth, “I already know I’ll love them.”
I pull back, searching his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes.” His smile is soft and tender, his eyes holding mine. “Really.”
I kiss him under the glittering night sky, brimming with possibility. For the first time in so long, hope fills me, bright as the stars above. Holding the man I love, heart of my heart, I tell him the truth:
I can’t wait for what comes next.
THE END
Oliver and Gavin’s story is over, but don’t worry—you’ll see them again in the next Bergman story, coming 2023!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Like many people, once I gave into the hype and watched Ted Lasso, I fell hard and fast. The show’s success in such stressful and uncertain times is no mystery to me. As Jason Sudeikis （who plays the eponymous lead character） joked on SNL, “it’s built around two things Americans hate — soccer and kindness.” While of course he’s teasing, in a way he’s right: American culture’s capitalist drive cultivates many success-at-all-costs principles underpinned by a self-oriented, cutthroat nature; as for soccer, it’s not America’s most loved game by any means, whereas it is the heart of shared cultural experience in nearly all other parts of the world.
All that to say, Ted Lasso took off, I think, because it gave American viewers in particular a truly escapist reprieve: the entertaining world of a sport many of them were unfamiliar with, and an even more unfamiliar idea—an empowered leader who is kind rather than cutting, hopeful rather than harsh; a community in the team, its staff, even the locals cheering them on, coming together for a common goal based on a belief, in spite of past failures, that they could work together through teamwork, generosity, patience, selfless collective effort, and be victorious.
As someone who’s a sucker for any character unpacking their embedded patriarchy and eschewing toxic masculinity, who grew up playing soccer and deeply missed playing while games were canceled and seasons postponed due to pandemic safety precautions, watching Ted Lasso was a balm to my soul. When I finished the two seasons that are so far complete, I felt this aching need to stay in the world, to linger in rowdy locker rooms and shenanigans during practice, to see teammates being there for each other, rising to the occasion as they faced challenges both on and off the field.
And thus was born an idea for Oliver’s book: a player whose heart echoed Ted Lasso’s, someone who’s always chipper, friendly, playful, yet who’s also privately contending with loneliness and anxiety; and another player, who like Roy Kent, grumpy, growly, and foul-mouthed, fears the end—like we all do—of what’s given his life purpose, validity, and meaning. And then, because I am in the business of writing happily ever afters, I thought, let’s make them fall in love!
To say writing Gavin and Oliver’s story brought me joy is a wild understatement. It was cathartic and healing and beautiful and challenging in the best ways, like one of those magical runs when your legs feel loose and strong and the sun’s out but not too bright and the wind moves just enough to cool your skin without knocking you over—hard but satisfying, peaceful yet invigorating. And it wouldn’t have been possible without some incredible people who worked with me to ensure that in addition to my own lived experience, some of which is portrayed in these characters, their lived experience of this story’s representation was authentically, sensitively portrayed. Jess, Tim, Ellie, thank you. Your wisdom, honesty, care, and dedication to helping me make this book inclusive, thoughtful, authentic, and respectful, means the world to me.
As always, I’m beyond grateful to my family and friends who put up with me cackling to myself as I wrote and indulged me in recounting a new favorite moment I’d drafted. You make me feel seen and supported and believed in, which Ted Lasso would tell you is just about the very best gift you could want from or give to the people you love.
I hope, dear reader, that this story has brought you joy and affirmation, that even if you wear that sunshine smile, you realize you don’t have to hide when the storm clouds roll in, that you can be loved even, no, especially, when you’re anxious and scared; that if you feel grief and pain, those worthy of your love will love you through those hard moments, make you laugh and hold your hand and remind you that, as the song beloved by soccer and musical fans alike reminds us, “you’ll never walk alone.”