“You know, Rogan, there comes a time in a man’s life when he needs to stop being self-destructive and own up to his faults. When he learns to make a change. This is that time.”

I scoff. How she could be so blind is beyond me. “I appreciate your concern, Mom, I really do, but I live up to my faults every goddamn day.” Slamming my feet on the ground, I wince as I stand abruptly. “I have to go. We’re heading out.”

“Rogan, please don’t overreact and end up doing something stupid.”

“You’re scared I’m going to overreact? Then you never should have brought up Harper.” I grip the balcony’s iron rail. “But don’t worry, I’ll send you pictures so you know we’re not doing anything stupid. We’ll all return to Port Snow in one piece, not a scratch or scar on us. I’ll see to it.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I just want you to be happy.”

Fucking moms and their ability to turn the switch on you so fast that you instantly forgive.

“I know, Mom. I love you too.”

“Be careful. And look out for voodoo dolls. They believe in that stuff down there.”

A sarcastic chuckle rumbles up my barrel of a chest. “Please, Mom, that stuff isn’t real. We’ll talk to you later.”

I hang up and pocket my phone with one thought blazing through my mind like a wildfire: alcohol. I need a lot of it, and I need it now.

The balcony doors, bloated in the humidity, creak and stutter as I open them. Griffin eyes me from the couch, silently asking if everything’s okay. The minute he sees my face, he knows it’s not. Reid and Brig bicker in the other room like idiots, giving me a moment of privacy with Griffin.

“What did Mom want?”

“Checking up on us, letting me know she ran into Harper at the store . . . you know, your basic conversational pieces.”

“Fuck.” Griffin stands abruptly and glances around, rubbing his hands together. “Shots?”

I nod. “Shots. I need to get fucked up tonight, man.”

Being the good big brother that he is, Griffin claps me on the back and guides me to the common area, where he opens the minifridge and uncaps two small bottles of whiskey. We clink them together and down them in one gulp. No doubt they cost at least fifteen dollars apiece, but fuck it. We both reach for another.

We’re in New Orleans, where everyone has the same goal: get wasted. What could really go wrong?

Nothing, right?

And it’s the only way I’ll be able to forget.

I need to forget it all.

CHAPTER ONE

ROGAN

Present Day

“Looks like the curse is broken,” Brig, ever the hopeless romantic, announces as he plops down beside me at the blazing bonfire in Griffin’s backyard. “That old wretch of a lady in New Orleans can take her curse and shove it up her ass.”

“You think the curse is broken because Griffin’s in love?” Reid scoffs, taking the other seat next to me, beer in hand and a disgruntled look on his face. Well, someone’s in a mood. “No, it’s just broken for him. You’re still doomed, man.”

Reid and I are very similar, almost too similar. We play the martyr role well, we know how to rile up our family, and we’ve both had to swallow huge disappointments in our lives. But Reid has no filter, especially when it comes to Brig, with his infuriating optimism and heart of gold. He’s a little naive, but I can’t help but admire the dude a little; he lives his life with nothing holding him back.

Unlike Reid.

Unlike me.

“What? No way. Griffin totally broke the curse for all of us. Right, Rogue?”

I drag my hand over my face and stare into the fire, so sick of this fucking curse. People can’t stop talking about it, not my brothers, not the gossips in town—hell, not even the tourists that come whipping into Port Snow.

It’s stupid, it’s absurd, and I still can’t decide whether I believe in it.

While in New Orleans two years ago—drunk, causing all sorts of trouble for Brig’s birthday, and trying to track down soft pretzels—we tripped over a palm reader running a scam. Granted, we might have accidentally broken her reading table—but she was still running a scam. But Brig, being the kind soul he is, paid the lady to read his palm to make up for the table. She made up some crap about his brothers getting him in trouble . . . honestly, I can’t remember the half of it because I was too damn drunk and disinterested to retain anything—except the moment that has stuck in all of our minds to this day.

It was like we were in another dimension, another world, a fucking alternate universe. The wind lashed around us in a funnel, dusting up trash and leaves from the French Quarter’s cobblestone streets while this batshit crazy woman raised her arms to the sky and spouted out an unsettling rhyme.

I can still hear the malice in her voice. And those yellow eyes, the dark abyss of her cloak—it all played into the fear she cast upon us . . . forever living with broken love.

“Those who belittle and make others feel worse will feel the ungodly wrath of my curse.” Snapping her head forward, she eerily pointed at each of us. “Listen to me, to the words I have spoken.” Her voice grew stronger, louder, more sinister. “From this day on, your love will be broken. It isn’t until your minds have matured that the weight of this curse will forever be cured.”

Fucking terrifying, right?

Yeah, it’s lived with me, the memory churning in the pit of my stomach. That next morning I brushed it off completely. And it wasn’t until Griffin’s wife passed away a few short days later that the curse metastasized and became a permanent fixture of my being.

Do I believe it? Maybe.

Did it happen? Yes.

Does it affect my everyday life like it does my other brothers’? No, because not one single female has even tempted me to be in a relationship, not since Harper walked into my life.

If anything, the “witch”—if that’s what you want to call her—just solidified everything I already knew: I’ve been cursed since college. I lost my future, I watched my dreams slip away without my choosing, and I pushed away the only person who truly made me happy.

I didn’t need the wind to whip around me and to be stared at by yellow eyes in the middle of New Orleans; I already knew I was cursed.

“I think you two need to drop the curse and worry about other things.” I look up from the flames. “Maybe worry about not acting like morons at a birthday party.”

Like every other surprise party the Knightlys like to host, this one is happening in the evening, when having a crowd of people jump out at you can actually be scary. And this early-fall night is a chilly one. Though firepits aren’t my favorite, I lean closer to the flames now, grateful for their warmth.

“How are we acting like morons?” Brig asks, his tone defensive.

I now slouch in my seat, legs spread, head resting against the hard wood of the Adirondack chair. “You were sword fighting with s’mores sticks two seconds ago.”

“That’s not being a moron, that’s getting our exercise in,” Reid answers. “Not all of us can be born into Adonis form.”

That pulls a small, slow smirk from my lips. It’s true. My sports background has made it easy for me to retain my physique, unlike my brothers—they have to work out every day. I still work out most days, though, because the gym is the one place I find solace, the one place I can punish myself and feel good about it.

“Not all of us Knightly brothers can be perfect.” I fold my hands over my stomach, hunkering down for a long night in front of the fire.

“Do you think Griff is the only one who will find love?” Brig asks. See? Hopeless romantic.

And because I know how much it means to Brig, I drop the asshole facade for a second and say, “You’re young, you have time.” That’s the best I’ve got.

“I have a date tomorrow night with a girl who lives up in Pottsmouth. She works at a doughnut shop. If all goes well, I’ll be sure to score us some free doughnuts.”

“Dude, that’s what you’re concerned about? Free doughnuts?” I roll my eyes.

“Just being a team player, a good brother.”

After setting down his beer, Reid picks up a stick from the woodpile and breaks it into pieces, then tosses it casually into the fire. “I couldn’t care less about finding love. None of that shit matters. I just want to get out of this fucking town. Working at Mom and Dad’s gift shop isn’t exactly my dream.”

Never has been. Reid had big plans, just like I used to.

“Then why don’t you do anything about it?” Brig asks. “Christ, man, all you two do is wallow in self-pity. Maybe if you brush those chips off your shoulders, you might find happiness.”

“I don’t wallow,” I say.

“You’re always growling at people, stomping around town like you’re ready to snap.”

That’s because I am.

“It’s just my personality. I can’t help it.”

“It’s a fucking ugly personality and bullshit. You haven’t always been this way.” Brig leans over to a nearby cooler and pulls out a beer for himself. The snap of the can opening echoes through the woods lined behind us.

You haven’t always been this way.