In Love With My Bully

What happens when kindergarten teacher Nicola comes face to face with her high school bully, now a single father to her favorite student, Arabella?

Cole Harrington never imagined he'd be raising his daughter alone after the tragic loss of his wife. Struggling to connect with Arabella, he's stunned to see her blossom under the care of her teacher, Nicola. Desperate to give his daughter the stability she needs, Cole proposes an unthinkable solution: marry Nicola, the girl he tormented in high school.

Nicola is determined to stay professional, but sparks fly as old resentments and unexpected attraction collide. Can Cole prove he's a changed man and win Nicola's heart? Or will their tumultuous past keep them apart?

Get ready for a rollercoaster ride of passion, redemption, and sizzling chemistry in this steamy romance where love might just heal old wounds and create new beginnings. Dive into the fun and fiery journey of Nicola and Cole as they navigate their way from enemies to lovers!

Nicola Taylor

I massage my temples as I step into my classroom, bracing myself for the parade of parents awaiting me. I adore my kindergarten students, even the little troublemakers, but meeting their parents is the most daunting part of my job. While some parents are delightful, most are overbearing, with unrealistic expectations for their five-year-olds. Their questions range from typical concerns about eating habits to issues better suited for a pediatrician.

I take my seat as parents start trickling in for the open house, each eager to discuss their child’s progress. I smile and share insights based on my experiences with their kids. By the time I reach my fifteenth parent, I force a smile and say, “Mrs. Lopez, you need to stop worrying so much. Billy is a great kid. He’s a bit less social than the others, but he will make friends in his own time. He’s an introvert, and that’s perfectly okay. There’s nothing wrong with your child. He’s lovely and a pleasure to teach.”

Mrs. Lopez, visibly holding back tears, confides, “I worry because I’m a single mom and I have to work so much. He’s often alone, and I wish he had friends.”

My heart aches for her. “I understand. I’ll make sure he sits with some of the friendlier students and encourage them to get to know each other. But even without friends, Billy is a sweetheart. You should be proud of him. You’re doing an amazing job.”

She finally smiles, her relief palpable. “He loves you as his teacher. Anyway, I’ve been here for half an hour. Other parents are waiting. I’ll get out of your hair.” She stands up, and I smile back, wondering how I’ll get through the next fifteen parents.

The next two hours blur by with complaints, concerns, and occasional blame. When the parent-teacher meeting finally ends, I feel drained and regretful about spending my Sunday this way. As I start packing up, I notice that Arabella’s father or nanny didn’t show up, which isn’t surprising. He never attends these meetings, but I was shocked that her nanny didn’t come either. The principal always bends over backward for these wealthy parents because of their generous donations to the school.

Just as I’m about to leave, I hear a knock on the door. It’s my friend and fellow teacher, Steph. “Hey, we’re all heading out to eat and gossip about the parents. Want to join?” she asks excitedly.

I shake my head. “I’ve spent half of my Sunday here. I think I need some time to myself.” The thought of a cold coffee and a grilled cheese makes my mouth water.

I can’t wait to go home.

As the door closes behind Steph, I let out a long sigh, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones. Parent-teacher meetings were always a mix of emotions, but today had been especially draining. I pick up my bag and start organizing the paperwork on my desk, thinking about the little moments from today that had made me smile—like Billy’s mother finally feeling reassured, even if only a little.

Just as I’m about to turn off the lights, I hear another knock on the door. I consider ignoring it, but my sense of duty kicks in.

“Come in,” I call out, trying to sound more energetic than I feel.

The door opens, and to my surprise, our principal, Mrs. Black, steps in with the biggest smile on her face. She ushers in someone that makes my whole body freeze.

What the actual fuck.

Cole Harrington. The guy who made high school a living hell for me. What is he doing here? As my brain starts processing the information, my eyes widen.

Arabella Harrington. Cole Harrington. She’s his daughter. How did I not know this?

Maybe because she is a sweet but troubled child and he is a monster.

“Ms. Taylor, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” Mrs. Black shakes me gently by my arm, snapping me out of my daze.

“The meetings are over. It’s five o'clock,” I murmur absent-mindedly, looking up at the man towering over the two of us at a height of 6’2, who was too busy reading something on his phone.

“Ms. Taylor,” Mrs. Black flashes a smile at Cole before glaring at me. “That’s fine. He’s a busy man but also a good father. He’s come here, and I want you to help him out. Alright?”

I suck in a deep breath, struggling to speak, and end up just nodding my head.

“Alright. I’ll leave you two be. Thank you for coming, Mr. Harrington, and thank you for last year’s donation. The children absolutely love the playground.” She flashes him another big smile before leaving as he continues to act like he is alone.

As the door closes behind her, I finally take a proper look at Cole. He’s even more handsome now, with a rugged charm that wasn’t there in high school. He’s grown taller, standing at an imposing 6’2, and his broad shoulders and muscular frame suggest he’s been spending a lot of time at the gym. His once clean-shaven face now sports a well-groomed stubble that adds to his striking appearance. His green eyes, though filled with a hint of annoyance, still have that same intensity that used to make my heart race.

Cole sighs, breaking the spell. “Can we hurry this up? I’m only here because it was suggested by her nanny that Arabella has been misbehaving and as her father, I should be here. So please, let’s get started.” He barely looks up from his phone.

Ah, I see where his daughter is learning her manners from.

“Alright, please take a seat.” I smile, but he doesn’t notice. He sits down, continuing to type on his phone.

“Maybe you should have sent Mrs. Kinsley. She at least listens to me with undivided attention because she really cares about your daughter.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop myself. All the anger I’d felt for him over the years for teasing and mocking me just comes rushing in out of nowhere.

My heart beats against my ribcage as he keeps his phone aside, finally looking up at me. His jaw clenches, and his green eyes turn dark with anger. For a moment, I feel like the same fifteen-year-old girl who was left locked in a classroom for two hours as a prank.

Cole leans forward, his gaze piercing. “Ms. Taylor,” he says in a low, controlled voice, “I’m here because I care about my daughter, regardless of what you think. Now, can we proceed with discussing her?”

Swallowing hard, I force myself to stay calm. Mrs. Black would kill me if I am rude to his highness.

"Of course. Arabella is a bright and talented girl, but she seems to be struggling with some behavioral issues. She’s been acting out in class and having difficulty following instructions."

He listens intently, his gaze piercing yet unreadable. Despite the professional setting, there's an underlying tension between us that I can't ignore, "What do you suggest we do?"

He knew I hated him.

"Consistency and positive reinforcement work wonders at this age. Perhaps spending more time with her or involving her in activities that require teamwork could help," I suggest, my voice steady despite the subtle electricity in the air as he maintains an eye contact.

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on mine. "I’ll see what I can do. Is that all?"

As he stands to leave, I can’t help but feel how a person who troubled me for years doesn’t recognize me anymore. Of course he doesn’t. The bullies are just having fun while giving the person they bully lifelong trauma.

"Alright, I don’t think you understand. You need to spend time with your daughter. She feels alone and she is sad. She doesn’t have a mother and I am sure as painful as it might be for you, I hope you can understand what she is going through," I assert, the tension between us palpable.

"Okay, what is your problem?" he asks, his voice a bit sharper, but his eyes betraying a flicker of intrigue. "I know how to raise my daughter. I took your advice, listened to you. That’s the end of it. Stop acting like you know me. I take care of my daughter and I do spend quality time with her."

"I do know you. You are Cole Harrington. You and your little clique in high school tormented me for years. You locked me in empty classrooms, sabotaged my homework when I didn't comply with your demands, and destroyed my projects, which resulted in me getting my first F. One time, one of your friends poured soda over my head while you all laughed. Do you want me to recount more of the awful things you've done?" My voice trembles with suppressed emotion, my face flushed with anger as I confront him.

Cole's expression shifts from confusion to realization, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with a defensive stance. His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, he feels bad but I knew he still didn’t recognize me.

"What? I don’t recall doing this to you. I don’t even know you," he responds, confusion momentarily replacing his earlier demeanor.

"Nicola Taylor," I say firmly, watching his confusion give way to recognition. "Or as you might remember me, Grizzly bear."

"What happened to you? The braces and the—" he starts, struggling to find the right words.

"The gal-stache or my weight?" I interject, a hint of defiance in my tone. I wasn’t skinny like a model now, but I wasn’t as heavy as I used to be in high school.

"I’m sorry, you look very different. I didn’t recognize you," he admits, his gaze lingering on my face longer than necessary. "Alright, about high school, I am—"

"I don’t want to talk about that. But I know you, and from this brief interaction, not much has really changed. Sure, now you don’t go around bullying people, but you still have that same superiority complex where no one except those in your status matters. As someone who has seen your worst side, take care of your daughter. She used to be a sweet girl, but now she is being disrespectful and misbehaving a lot. I’m sure something awful in your life led you to bully me, but don’t let your daughter end up like you. It took me two years of therapy to get over all the pain you and your little group put me through!" My voice rises with anger, unable to contain itself.

"Alright, whatever I did was my doing. Don’t drag my daughter into this by projecting my behavior onto her. She barely has any memory of her mother, and that’s why she is acting out. I know my daughter and I know what’s going on with her," he responds, his tone sharpening as his own anger flares, pulling me out of my heated state.

Our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. "Okay, you are right," I finally concede, refocusing on Arabella's well-being. "These are a few school events parents usually attend with their child. I am sure it would mean the world to her if her father attends it instead of her nanny. I think your daughter is a sweet but troubled girl and I just want to see her smile again."

I force a smile, handing him the brochure. As he takes it, our fingers brush, sending a jolt of awareness through me. He looks at me, his expression softer but he looks defeated and tired.

"Okay, thank you. Um, Ms…" he trails off, struggling to remember my name.

"Ms. Taylor," I fill in, a small smile playing on my lips as I meet his gaze. I could hold onto my anger and be rude but that’s not going to lead me anywhere.

"Right, Ms. Taylor," he murmurs, his voice slightly husky, before quickly looking away, embarrassed because I had just proven my point.

He didn’t care enough about others.

"Alright, I will see you around," he says, his tone a mixture of professionalism and guilt, “Thank you for your time.”

My mom was right.

Kill them with Kindness.