Chapter 18 The Burden of Perfect
The Burden of Perfect
GAbrIEL
Seeing Millie being manhandled by that lowlife back there has my blood boiling. Even now, when she’s safe with me, her body warm against mine, I can still feel the anger simmering inside me.
I’ve seen enough in my life to know when someone is trying to control or hurt a person, but this? This is different. This is her, and I’m so fucking furious I can barely keep it in.
Her eyes are glossy from what just happened, but I can see she’s trying to play it cool, trying to act like it’s no big deal.
But I know her better than that. The way her shoulders are tense, the way she keeps biting her lip—like she’s holding something back.
She wants to tell me about her ex, and part of me dreads hearing about it.
I know I won’t be able to stop myself from wanting to hunt the bastard down.
I don’t know much about him, but what I already know makes me want to punch through a wall.
The thought of some guy—any guy—treating her like that makes me sick.
Hell, even the way that guy looked at her earlier made me see red.
That wasn’t just about the manhandling. It was the way he looked at her—like she was a prize to be won or discarded.
Like she belonged to him. Like she was less than human.
I don’t care if he’s some old boyfriend from her past or a stranger. Anyone who thinks they can touch her in any way, deserves a reminder of how to respect women.
But I’m trying to keep my cool. I know Millie’s a fighter.
She doesn’t need me to save her from anything.
She doesn’t need me to storm in and fix it.
But goddamn it, I want to. I want to fix all the things that have hurt her and make her believe she deserves more.
I want to erase the marks of her past—whether they’re emotional or physical—and make sure she knows she’s safe with me.
I want to be her shield and her shelter, the person who rebuilds what was broken. But I know it takes time—sometimes, a lifetime—and I’m ready for every second.
She looks at me, eyes searching mine. “Gab, I…” Her voice is thick, like she’s struggling to get the words out. The hesitation kills me. I want to pull her close and tell her she doesn’t have to say anything.
But I know she needs this. She needs to talk about it. To get it out.
Ever since we kissed in my kitchen, my already strong feelings for her have only intensified. I had been frequenting Beanstalk every day in hopes I would get to see her.
Her fingers twitch as she takes a slow, deep breath, like she’s trying to gather herself. She doesn’t pull away from me, though, which is a relief. She leans her head back, a soft exhale leaving her lips as she speaks again.
“We met in high school,” she says quietly, her voice distant, like she’s reliving it all over again.
“Freshman year. I guess he was just everything I thought I wanted back then. He had the charm, the smile. He made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. I felt special. And I guess… I guess I thought that meant love.”
Her voice trembles just slightly, like she’s still caught in that memory, still hurt by the way her young heart believed in something that turned out to be broken.
The words are slow, almost hesitant, but I can hear the emotion in them. The hurt, the confusion. And I know she hasn’t talked about him, hasn’t let herself think about it. But now, she’s opening up in a way neither she nor I expected.
“We were that couple, you know?” She smiles faintly, but it’s not a happy smile. “Everyone thought we were perfect. High school love—the kind you see in movies. ”She pauses, her voice softer now. “All the other girls envied me. I was his ‘girl.’ And for a while, that was enough.”
She swallows, glancing down at her hands. “He made me feel like… like I was the best thing that ever happened to him.”
Her gaze shifts to the lake, eyes unfocused, as if watching something only she can see. “But when we went off to Delaware State together… things changed. A lot.”
I stay quiet, arms wrapped around her, listening to every word. There’s a need to understand what happened, to know why it still haunts her so deeply. I want to kill the bastard for making her feel this way.
“We got an apartment, just the two of us,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.
“I thought it’d be amazing. Like we’d build a future together.
But he was always caught up in hockey—the pressure, the practices, the games.
I tried to be supportive because I knew it mattered to him.
It was his dream. And for a while, I was okay with it. ”
Her breath hitches.
“But when things didn’t go well—when he got benched or the team lost—he brought that frustration home.
Not physically. He never hurt me like that.
But emotionally? He’d shut me out. Go cold.
Like I wasn’t even there. And if I tried to comfort him, to be there…
he’d get angry. Not at hockey. At me. Like I was the problem. ”
My jaw tightens, fury simmering just beneath the surface, but I stay quiet. She needs to let this out.
“He’d ignore me for days. Snap over nothing.
Call me too emotional. Say I didn’t understand.
” Her eyes glaze over with memory. “I kept trying. I just wanted to help. But it never seemed to be enough. And the worst part? I didn’t know how to fix it.
I couldn’t figure out how to make him happy again. ”
The weight of her words settles heavily between us. She’s been carrying this pain alone for far too long. And that she ever believed it was her fault? It wrecks me.
“When he came home in a bad mood, he didn’t take it out on the team, or himself—he took it out on me.
Every time. It kept getting worse. The silence.
The insults. Like I was being punished for his failures.
” She swallows hard, her voice cracking.
“He’d say things like, ‘What’s wrong with you?
Why aren’t you happy? Why can’t you be perfect like the puck bunnies at my games?
’ And that’s when I started questioning everything. Wondering if I really wasn’t enough.”
The vulnerability in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. I feel sick knowing that she lived through that, that she thought she wasn’t enough for someone who should’ve treated her like she was the best thing in the world.
Because she is.
I tighten my arms around her, pulling her closer, as if I can shield her from the memories of that time. “You’re enough, Bumper,” I murmur, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You have always been enough. More than enough.”
She sniffs softly, wiping her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. I’m glad. She needs to hear this. She needs to know.
“Anyway,” she says, her voice quiet now, “that went on for a while. We got into this pattern. He’d get angry, I’d try to fix it, and it would get worse.
Until one day, he just…left. No warning.
No explanation. He just stopped coming home and stopped answering my calls.
And I realized, he wasn’t just done with me—he was done with us.
And even though I knew it was over, I couldn’t help but feel like I had failed.
Like I didn’t do enough to keep him happy. ”
I feel the heat of my anger flare again, but this time, it’s not just for him.
It’s for her.
For making her believe she wasn’t enough, that her love wasn’t worth anything.
“You didn’t fail, Bumper,” I say, my voice firm, desperate to make her understand. “He failed you. He failed to see how incredible you are. But I see you. I see everything you are. And you…” I grip her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me, “-you’re more than enough. You always were.”
She finally meets my gaze, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
And for the first time since we started talking about him, she looks a little lighter.
A little less burdened. And for that, I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
To show her every single day that she deserves nothing less than the world.
“Did he ever?” I begin my voice thick with rage, clenching my fists until my knuckles turn white.
Millie glances at me with a soft, sad smile, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine. It’s gentle and reassuring, but I can feel the weight of everything she’s been through in that touch.
“He never laid a hand on me. The worst he ever did was throw a glass…at the floor.” Her voice falters slightly as she speaks, as if she’s not entirely sure how much it matters or if it’s worth mentioning at all.
The words hit hard. Like somehow throwing a glass at the wall made it less cruel.
As if that kind of rage could be justified—just because it didn’t leave bruises.
But it did. Just not on her skin. It left marks buried deep, the kind that warp how you see yourself, that make you question your worth and wonder if you’ll ever be enough
It makes my blood boil all over again.
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to storm out and find this asshole. The only thing holding me back is the girl sitting next to me—the woman I would do anything for. Her pain, her hurt, it’s mine now, and I won’t let it consume me. Not while she needs me to be steady.
“Bumper,” I say, trying to keep my voice as calm as I can.
“It doesn’t fucking matter. He fucked with your brain.
That absolutely counts for something.” I lean in closer, wrapping my arms around her, hoping she can feel the sincerity in my words.
“That kind of shit? It sticks with you. And you don’t deserve any of it. ”
I slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so she can feel the heat of me, the promise that she’s not alone anymore. She leans into me, fragile but determined, and I hold her like she’s the only thing keeping me sane.
Her breath hitches. “I’m so glad I met you, Gab,” she whispers into the fabric of my shirt, voice raw with emotion.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Me too, Bumper. Me too.”
I can’t imagine life without her now. Not just because she makes the dark parts easier to bear, but because she’s a force—unapologetic and fierce, even when she’s broken. And I’ve fallen for all of it. The light, the shadows, the messy in-between.
We walk for hours. The conversation flowing like a current between us, lighthearted and deep all at once. We talk about everything and nothing and I don’t want this night to end. Millie isn’t just a nanny to me—she’s a damn force of nature, and I’m just lucky enough to be in her orbit.
The stars come out, scattered like silver dust above us, and I pull her closer to my side.
The quiet between us feels sacred, like the world shrinks to just the two of us.
She leans her head on my shoulder, and I feel this fragile peace settle between us.
For a moment, I wonder if this could be the beginning of our healing.
“I never told anyone all that before,” she whispers. “Not really. Maybe because I didn’t want pity or because I was too scared to admit it even to myself.”
I shake my head slowly, brushing a stray hair from her face. “You don’t need to hide it from me, Bumper. Whatever you’ve been through, you carry it with such grace. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
Her eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a small, tired laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Maybe it’s not,” I admit. “But I promise I’ll be here. Every step of the way.”
And as we keep walking, the night stretching endlessly ahead, I know this isn’t just a moment. It’s a beginning. A new chapter for both of us.
Together.