Page 11 of The Gift Rarely Given

“Alexander James Haddock.”

“Not what I meant.”

“That’s what you said.”

“Are you always this literal? You can’t mean it. My mom is part psychic; she would know immediately something was up and...what? I’m just going to show up with you and hope for the best when I don’t even know your favorite color?”

I open my mouth to answer but she lifts her finger in warning as she raises her eyebrow.

“Also, not what I meant. I barely know you,” she adds.

I shrug, trying not to smirk. “We can change that.”

“So…what? I rocked your world last night and now all of a sudden you want to go out with me so I can show my mother I’m dateable?” Livie scoffs. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“Well, not entirely that,” I reply, grabbing my cup and taking a sip. Getting Livie to help me could be a game changer. She’s got that effortless charm, a knack for turning heads. If I could tap into that, maybe I could reshape how people see me. If I could be seen with this ball of Christmas spirit, maybe people would finally let me be who I truly am and not who they want me to be.

“What if I have a way for you to help me, too?” I thought she would be game, but her expressionless face is making me second-guess myself. As I look at her, I wonder if she’d want to be part of any of it. Would she see my mess as a burden? Does she think I’m only talking to her so she can help me? The thoughts make my heart race, but there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, if I open up, we could tackle our issues together. “I could use a little help on showing people I’m not who they think I am.”

Her expression shifts to curiosity as she folds both hands under her chin in herI’m listeningpose, which I’ve noticed in the two short days I’ve known her. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, stirring my drink with a straw and mirroring Livie’s sudden movements. “I’ve been trying to figure out who I am now that football is…well, done. But no matter how hard I try, people don’t seem to let it go. The rumors are exhausting, and I feel like I need a fresh start. But no one seems to see me beyond the party boy. All they see is Alex the troublemaker.”

Livie nods, her expression thoughtful. “I get that. People can be quick to judge based on what they hear or what they think they know.”

“You have no idea,” I reply.

“Then enlighten me, Alex. I don’t work today and now that Hailey left, my agenda just cleared up.”

“I played for the NFL, right? All good, except I was a little reactive. I partied too much. I got into a couple fights. I was caught screaming at the paparazzi more times than I can count. I got injured, which is why I don’t play anymore; the recovery was brutal for both my physical and mental health. I said things I shouldn’t have and I caused a scene in a couple public places. Bar fights, screaming at paparazzi,leaving places drunk—I was a mess and I’m not proud of it.”

“Okay but you clearly are not an asshole. So what changed?” she asks.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“I can’t promise but I’ll try,” she answers, softening her features.

“I went to therapy and learned how to cope with a lot of shit. I do yoga once a week and I go on daily walks at the farm.”

She smiles at me, and this time her whole body seems like it’s melting as she grabs my hand and says, “So you are a public grump who is really a closeted hippie?” I nod and she continues, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, about any of that. I’m glad you found what helps. It takes courage to try new things. I can’t imagine how much people judged you when you showed up to yoga with all those giant muscles.”

I let out a soft laugh and reply, “Not too harsh, but I still haven’t had any luck showing people I’m not that angry kid anymore. And I think you could help me. If you’re willing, of course.”

Livie tilts her head, intrigued. “How?”

I hesitate, then say, “What if we pretended to date? It could work in both our favor. I’d help you get your mom off your back about settling down, and I’d get a chance to redefine how people see me.”

She raises an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement dancing in her eyes. “Fake dating? Also, what do I have that would help people see you differently?”

“The media is used to seeing me with different girls—not my finest moment—and nobody like you.”

“What? Chunky and short like a cupcake?” she whisper-shouts.

I’m wide-eyed as I shake my head at whatever bullshit she thinks I meant. “You’re not chunky, Livie. You’re beautiful.”

“Oh my God, please don’t be this person. I said chunky, not ugly, and I am. I don’t have a problem with it—do you?”

How the fuck did this conversation turn into this? “Wait, wait. I don’t think you understood me, and I’m so sorry if I said something wrong. I just… fuck. Sorry. What I meant by girls like you is sweet, kind, bubbly girls. You were actually dressed like an elf on a random Friday. You work with sick children. And your smile… Well, your smile can light up a whole room, Liv. It had nothing to do with your body. I fucking love your body.”

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