Chapter 14
SUNFLOWERS
Maggie
The car ride home was silent, but anything but empty.
The air was so thick with everything Hunter wasn’t saying.
His rage was in the tense set of his jaw, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, the way he wouldn’t look at me.
I wanted to reach for him, place my hand on his thigh, tell him it was nothing, that Graham was just doing his job, but I was starting to learn.
If I touched him now, I’d be throwing fuel on a fire.
Once inside, he didn’t slam the door, just closed it with a quiet, deliberate click. He just stood there, his back to me, staring at the wall.
“Hunter?” My voice caught in my throat.
He turned slowly, and for a second his love looked real.
Like I was his lover and what I felt for him wasn’t because of some stupid relapse.
In that moment, he was the man who brought me croissants in bed, peeling away their layers, feeding them to me one by one as the warm sunlight fell through the curtains.
The man who kissed me like I was everything.
But then he shifted, and his eyes were tired.
He’d been battling with something deep inside.
Sadness maybe? Rage? Resentment? It broke my heart.
I didn’t know it was possible to break your own heart—at least I didn’t realize it was so easy—but then again my kindergarten teacher did say I was an overachiever.
Fuck.
“Didn’t sit well with me, seeing you there, Maggie,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t like thinking of him asking you the most intimate questions about our life. About us.”
“He’s a cop, Hunter—it was just routine.”
“The fuck it was!” he snapped. “It’s never just routine with him.” He closed the distance between us. His hand found my arm and jerked me toward him, fingers digging into my skin. “Don’t ever make me chase after you again, Maggie. Do you understand me?”
I stopped, my breath caught in my throat.
I didn’t fight him… didn’t acknowledge him.
I just watched. Searched his eyes. They were different.
Distant. Cold. Demanding. The spell’s hold on him must have gotten stronger.
His obsession was past the point of hiding.
Just the mention of Graham made him spiral.
His grip loosened, his thumb stroking the spot on my arm where he’d grabbed me.
A twisted form of an apology. “I just worry,” he murmured, his voice dropping back to that soft, intimate tone.
“You’re everything to me, a chuisle mo chróí .
The thought of something happening to you…
of him being the one to protect you instead of me…
it drives me crazy. I love you so much it hurts. ”
And there it was. The loving, tender boyfriend. It was always there, tangled in the fear, buried under the mess of the curse. It was the poison and the antidote all at once. I leaned in, let him pull me closer, telling myself it was real this time.
“We need to finish getting the decorations from upstairs,” I said, keeping my voice soft, trying to steer us back to normal. “Mom will be here later tonight, and I’d rather not deal with her whining that I’m never prepared for the unexpected.”
He nodded, the old excitement flickering back into his eyes—the version of him that existed before Graham came back. “Aye. Right, then. Let’s make this house perfect for her.” He kissed my forehead and turned toward the stairs, his mood suddenly reset.
I followed. “Hunter? I need to tell you something.” A dark knot of dread tightened in my gut. He deserved to know about the curse. Just like Graham. Just like Jamie. Like all the others.
He turned to me from the top of the steps. “What is it, darling?”
“I need you to know… I cursed you.”
His smile fractured slightly. “What? You… cursed… me?”
“I cursed you into loving me,” I blurted.
He chuckled and turned his attention back to the boxes. “Aye… okay.”
I was halfway up the steps reaching for the box of ornaments when the doorbell rang, followed by a familiar voice that sent a jolt of ice through my body.
“Maggie,” Graham called from the door. “You forgot your coat at the precinct. I’ll just leave it on the chair.”
Fuck.
Hunter froze. The warmth in his eyes evaporated, and his face twisted into a a cold snarl of rage. He didn’t say a word, just turned—his face now a mask of pure fury—and shoved me.
I didn’t even try to scream. My feet flew out from under me, and everything became a blur of wooden steps rushing up to meet the back of my skull.
The world didn’t just go black; it shattered.
Then, from the pieces, a face emerged. Hunter’s, twisted with fury.
Then Graham’s, thundering into view. Their voices a distant war, muffled by the roaring in my ears, until it faded and there was only silence and sunflowers swaying over my head like a canopy of gold.
When I was a little girl, I was picked on constantly by the other kids, usually on the way home from school.
This was even before I found magic. This was because children were mean, and I was different.
I didn’t like sports. I preferred wandering in the woods, making collages, or poking my nose in a book instead of playing dress-up.
They’d chase me, throw stones, shout names, shove me, rub dirt in my face—you know…
all the things that made me really want to stick around every time I saw them.
One day, during the usual routine of running until my legs gave out, I decided to switch it up—rounded the corner, ducked behind a picket fence, and disappeared into a patch of sunflowers.
After the kids passed by, I lay down and finally took a deep breath—they didn’t find me that time.
I spent hours watching the big yellow blooms sway above me.
They were so tall it was almost like they could reach the clouds.
This place was safe—it was freedom, it was my new home.
So, every day after school for a month I ran… ran before they even started chasing. Once I got to the sunflowers, I knew I’d be alright.
One time, though, when I reached my spot in the patch, a basket filled with something wrapped in a colorful cloth sat with a note pinned to it.
Bet all that runnin’s makin’ you tired. Save some for the trip home.
~Annie
I peeled back the fabric and found cookies, muffins, an apple, and an orange.
She was right. Usually by the time I got there, I was beat.
The cookies were still warm and smelled of chocolate and vanilla.
I bit in and collapsed onto my back. It was an eye-rolling, soul-finding experience—those cookies were divine.
“Come out of them flowers, child.” Annie’s voice startled me, her southern drawl thick as molasses.
I rolled over onto my belly and army-crawled through the thick stems until I was met by a pair of white sneakers.
“Where’s your mama?” she asked.
“I-I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Shoot. Ain’t old enough to be no ma’am.” Annie placed both hands on her hips. “What you plannin’ to do when I harvest those flowers in a week? Where you gonna go?”
I swallowed and sat cross-legged in front of her, savoring my cookie.
“I don’t know…”
“You gotta be what, eight, nine?”
I nodded.
“Why you gots to run from them like that?” She sat down beside me and crossed her legs. “Better yet, why you not standin’ up for yourself, sugs?”
“There’s too many,” I said, staring down at the chocolate melting onto my fingers. “I did once… I’d rather run.”
“Okay, then run.” She leaned back, holding herself up on her hands and looked up to the sunflowers. “They are beautiful, ain’t they?”
I nodded again and lay down.
“Tell you what, sugar…” She lay beside me, folding her hands behind her head.
“I’m gonna be cutting them down to get them seeds soon.
When you come a runnin’ and you don’t see those big yellow flowers up there…
you cut through my lawn and go one block over.
That’s where my bakery is. You come inside.
You’ll be safe there. We can let your mama know where you’ll be and she can come get you when she’s got the time. ”
I took another bite of cookie. “My mama don’t care… she won’t pick me up.”
“What’s your name?”
“Magdalene Maxwell, but I hate it.”
“What do you like?”
“Maggie.”
“Well, Maggie… that may be… but I’m not fittin’ to be havin’ no police report filed against me for kidnappin’ your mama’s child. I want you to call her and tell her that’s where you gon’ be after school… startin’ next week.”
“Yes, Ma—”
Annie sat up and gave me that stern look I’d soon remember better than anything. “Now I know you nots about to call me Ma’am again, is yah?”
Giggling, I shook my head and shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth.
She smiled back, stood up, and offered me her hand. “Good, let’s go give her a call.”
I looked to the sunflowers one last time before they dissolved into the blinding fluorescent lights of that goddamn trauma room I’d become so familiar with in my short time in Port Grey, Massachusetts.
I blinked and focused on the big shadow by my feet.
Graham had braced himself with both hands, gripping the foot of the hospital bed, watching me from under his lashes, his brows cinched tight with frustration… or worry… or maybe he was just plain pissed—I couldn’t tell.
“Oh—w-what happened?” I groaned, but before my hand rose even an inch toward my head, Hunter swooped in and hugged me tight.
“Maggie, are you alright?” he said, his voice coated in concern.
“I’m fine,” I croaked, a dry soreness clawing at my throat.
Graham didn’t say anything, just shifted his gaze to Hunter, a snarl etched in his face, ready to attack. Maybe it was because he wanted to be the one with his arms wrapped around me—but this wasn’t a glare of jealousy. He wanted to destroy Hunter.
Bishop pulled my chart and gave me a once-over. Shining that stupid little pen light in each eye, checking reflexes, asking if things hurt, if I could perform simple tasks—gripping his fingers, pushing his hands, pulling.