Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me Chapter 32

I think the shock is the only reason Nathan allows me to pull him into my room, and when the door clicks shut behind him, I decide that after this is over, I’m checking myself into a mental health facility.

There is definitely something wrong with me.

Nathan gapes at me, and I gape back.

“Um…”

“Sit!” I say, pointing to the chair in front of the vanity where I’m primped daily.

I’ve already done the stupid thing; I might as well continue.

It’s disturbing how quickly that has become somewhat of a life motto—especially when it comes to Nathan Ashford.

Nathan doesn’t move, and I sigh, leading him to the chair. I press down on his shoulders, forcing him to sit. He looks stunned, and I can’t blame him.

He’s probably wondering how many screws I have loose and regretting his decision to come to check up on me.

“Stay here,” I instruct.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already walking away into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and rush to the mirror.

I stare at my reflection. Yep, same grey eyes as last time I checked, not red, which would indicate that I was possessed—and explain what the hell I’m doing.

“What the fuck, April?” I hiss at my reflection.

Then I catch sight of…yep—that damned drool on my cheek. I turn on the tap and aggressively rinse my face, inwardly throwing all the curse words I know at myself.

When I’m done, my eyes don’t look so puffy from my nap, and the drool is gone. I fill a bowl with water and grab a small towel before heading back out.

Nathan is still seated where I put him, and honestly, that surprises me. I totally expected him to bolt the second I left him.

For a second, I just stare at his back. He’s sitting stiffly, his hands pressed tightly in his lap, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” I say as I approach him.

I set the bowl of water on the table next to him and soak the towel into it. After squeezing it, I stretch out a hand to him.

“Give me your hand.”

Nathan doesn’t move. “You really don’t have to do this,” he says, then stands. “I should g—”

I press his shoulder down, forcing him back into the seat.

“If you wanted to leave, you would have done so when I was in the bathroom.”

Nathan’s eyes widen at the same time mine do. I think that was by far the most audacious thing I’ve ever said to Nathan Ashford.

At some point between the horse track and now, could I have been drugged?

Wordlessly, Nathan puts his hand in mine.

I ignore the instant shock of electricity that runs through me and sit on the extra stool before him.

For the good of my sanity, and so I don’t further say or do any more stupid things, I focus solely on Nathan’s hand.

I clean it with the damp towel, careful to be gentle over the cuts and scratches. I do that twice before leaving the towel in the bowl. Thankfully, there is no debris or splinters stuck in his skin.

Then, I reach for the first aid kit. I take out the alcohol swabs first. “This might sting,” I tell him softly.

When I gently run the swabs over his cuts, his hand stiffens, and I look up just in time to see him school his face into a blank expression.

I avert my gaze immediately, biting my lip to keep from smiling. I can’t describe how it feels in this moment—being with Nathan so…*normally.*

Moments like this remind me that he’s human, just like the rest of us.

After disinfecting his cuts, I gently apply antibiotic ointment over all of them. I raise his hand and blow softly.

“You’re—” Nathan clears his throat. “You’re really good at this.”

I chuckle softly. “This is nothing; I’ve lost count of how many injuries I’ve treated in my life.”

“June gets hurt a lot?”

I stiffen slightly. It’s expected that his first thought is June. But in reality, the cuts and scrapes I treated were my parents’.

They used to get hammered regularly and got injured in a variety of ways—through bar fights featuring broken bottles and occasionally knives, by slipping and falling everywhere, and my personal favorite: playing darts and using themselves as targets.

Thanks to them, I know how to treat various injuries, even down to stitching wounds.

The idea of telling Nathan all those ugly details of my life makes my stomach churn, and I have to swallow to force bile back down my throat.

Just as I’m feeling the tiniest bit closer to Nathan Ashford, I have to go and be reminded of one of the hundred million reasons why he and I are worlds apart.

“Yeah,” I say flatly.

“How is she?”

I look up to see him glancing at my sleeping sister.

“She’s good,” I reply.

I’ve tried not to think too hard about the allergy incident and all the suspicions surrounding it. I’ve also tried not to look for Nathan to press him for new information after he promised to help investigate.

But he’s here now, and *he* brought her up.

“Um, speaking of which,”—I shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant—“have you found anything out about her accident?

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he diverts his gaze from June.

“Not yet.”

I frown slightly. I know I don’t know Nathan well enough to deduce his expressions, but he looks…guilty.

I don’t know if he feels guilty because he hasn’t found anything out or if he feels guilty because he *has* found something and is lying about it.

I revert my focus to his hand as I apply band-aids to the necessary cuts.

“I’m done,” I say quietly, setting his hand on his lap.

Nathan looks at his hand, and something like awe crosses his face. “Thank you,” he says.

“Anytime,” I answer. “And thank you again—for saving me.”

He nods. “Anytime.”

I chuckle awkwardly. “That’s good to know, in case Peter tries to trample me with any more horses.”

Nathan laughs, and the sound curls my toes. I stare at him in disbelief. I’ve heard him laugh before—countless times in high school, that night at the hospital with June.

But never with me—or because of me.

And I know I need to stop idolizing Nathan because he’s a human boy, not a deity, but I feel like I’ve unlocked a special level that makes me more worthy.

He freezes mid-laugh when he notices I'm staring.

I blink, suddenly feeling scrutinized and exposed. I grab the bowl with suddenly shaky hands and stand.

“Um, I didn't–sorry, I–”

Nathan stands at the same time, leaving next to no space between us. The sudden proximity sends all my systems into overdrive, and I lose control of my…well, everything.

With a squeak, I jerk back, forgetting the stool behind me. I lose my balance and begin to fall backward.

I see Nathan’s eyes widen, and he reaches for me, pulling me towards him. Thanks to the bowl of water in my hand, he’s unable to get a proper grip, and both of us lose our footing.

The next thing I know, the world tilts on its axis. The bowl slips out of my grip, spilling water over both of us as we fall.

And then, for the second time today, I land on the floor with Nathan Ashford.

This time, I’m on top.