A LOVE FORBIDDEN

The air smelled like burnt wood and whiskey.

Jake Evans sat on the worn-out couch, staring at the cracked ceiling of their tiny house. The hum of the broken ceiling fan did little to drown out the sound of his father stumbling around the kitchen, searching for another bottle. It was always the same routine-Mark Evans would come home late, half-drunk, and finish the night completely wasted.

Jake had stopped caring.

A year ago, he might have been worried. He might have stayed up late, waiting for his dad to come home safely. But now? He just wanted the night to end.

"Where the hell is it?" his father muttered, slamming cupboard doors.

Jake didn't answer. He already knew what his father was looking for. The last bottle of whiskey had been emptied two nights ago, but he didn't have the heart to tell him.

The house was quiet except for his father's cursing.

Emily and Olivia were asleep upstairs-at least, he hoped they were. Olivia had learned to block out the noise with music, but Emily was still too young to understand why their father was always angry.

Jake ran a hand through his messy brown hair and exhaled. He hated nights like this.

Then, just as he was about to get up and check on his sisters, his father appeared in the doorway, his bloodshot eyes locking onto him.

"You took it, didn't you?" Mark slurred, staggering forward.

Jake clenched his jaw. "Took what?"

"My damn drink," his father growled. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Hiding shit from me like your mother used to?"

The mention of his mother made something sharp twist in Jake's chest.

She was gone. Left them a year ago, walked right out the door without so much as a goodbye. No warning, no explanation-just an empty closet and a note that simply said: I can't do this anymore.

Jake had hated her for that.

But he hated his father more for what happened after.

"You're drunk," Jake muttered, standing up. "Go to bed."

His father let out a bitter laugh. "You don't tell me what to do, boy."

Jake had heard it all before. He didn't even flinch as his father stepped closer, the stench of alcohol thick between them.

"She ruined everything," Mark whispered, his voice breaking for the first time. "Your mother... she was supposed to love us."

Jake didn't respond. He just watched as his father's anger faded into something hollow-something broken.

And for the first time in months, Jake saw it.

His father wasn't just drunk. He was lost.

A man drowning in his own pain, searching for something-anything-to numb it.

But Jake didn't have the energy to care.

He had his own pain to deal with.

And no one to help him through it.

Jake sat back down on the couch, his fists clenched. He could feel his father's eyes burning into him, but he refused to look up. He had learned a long time ago that meeting his father's gaze only made things worse.

"You think you're better than me?" Mark muttered, his voice thick with resentment.

Jake didn't answer. There was no point.

His father scoffed. "You walk around this house like you run things. Like you're the man now. But let me tell you something, boy-you're just a kid."

Jake's jaw tightened. He wanted to say something, to throw his father's words right back at him, but what was the use? Nothing he said would change the fact that Mark Evans had given up a long time ago.

The sound of glass shattering made Jake flinch. His father had thrown an empty bottle against the wall, the shards scattering across the floor.

"Clean that up," Mark ordered, already turning away. "And don't touch my shit again."

Jake watched as his father stumbled toward his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence.

Jake let out a slow breath and ran a hand down his face. He was tired-tired of the drinking, the fighting, the endless nights of pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.

But most of all, he was tired of feeling like this house was nothing more than a prison.

A soft whimper from the stairs made him turn.

Emily stood there, clutching her teddy bear to her chest. Her big brown eyes were wide with fear.

"Did Daddy break something again?" she asked in a small voice.

Jake forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "Yeah, but it's okay. Go back to bed, Em."

She hesitated. "You're not mad?"

Jake's heart clenched. Emily was only six, but she had already learned to read his moods. She had already learned that anger was dangerous.

"No," he said gently. "I'm not mad."

She studied him for a moment before nodding and disappearing up the stairs.

Jake waited until he heard her bedroom door close before getting up. He grabbed a broom from the corner of the kitchen and began sweeping up the broken glass. It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

By the time he was done, exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders. He sat back down on the couch and stared at the ceiling again, listening to the quiet hum of the night.

One day, he told himself.

One day, he was going to get out of this house.

The morning came too soon.

Jake groaned as the sound of his alarm buzzed in his ears. His body felt heavy, his limbs sore from another night of restless sleep. He turned over, shutting off the alarm with a lazy slap before dragging himself out of bed.

He didn't have time to waste.

Yawning, he grabbed a wrinkled t-shirt from the floor and threw it on before heading to the small bedroom next door. Inside, Emily was curled up under her blanket, her tiny form rising and falling with each breath. Olivia, her older sister, was already half-awake, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed.

"Time to get up," Jake said, nudging Emily's shoulder.

She groaned, burying her face into her pillow. "Five more minutes..."

Jake smirked. "Yeah? And who's gonna walk you to school if you miss breakfast?"

That got her attention. Emily peeked up at him, her sleepy brown eyes wide with realization.

"You are!" she said quickly, throwing off her blanket.

Jake chuckled as she scrambled out of bed, already rushing to grab her clothes. Olivia, on the other hand, stretched and sighed.

"You look like hell," she muttered, standing up.

"Thanks, Liv," Jake said dryly.

She frowned, studying his face. "Dad was bad last night, huh?"

Jake shrugged. "Nothing new."

Olivia didn't press the subject, but Jake knew she was worried. At fourteen, she was old enough to understand what was going on, but young enough to still hope things would change.

Jake had given up on that hope a long time ago.

"Get dressed," he told them. "Breakfast in ten."

With that, he left them to it and made his way to the kitchen. The place was a mess-empty bottles on the counter, dirty dishes piled in the sink. He ignored it all, grabbing some bread and peanut butter. They didn't have much, but it would have to do.

By the time the girls joined him, he had their sandwiches packed and ready to go.

Emily grinned up at him. "You're the best, Jakey!"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, ruffling her hair. "Let's go before you make me late."

They left the house, stepping into the chilly morning air. Jake walked his sisters to their school, listening to Emily chatter about some new art project while Olivia stayed mostly quiet. Once they were safely inside, he turned back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

His own school day was just beginning.

And he already knew it was going to be hell.

Jake never wanted to be one of them. The wolves. The ones who ruled the school with sharp smirks and iron fists. He wasn't like them. At least, that's what he used to tell himself.

It started small. A push in the hallway. A trip on the stairs. Books knocked out of his hands, laughter echoing behind him. He could handle that. He had been handling worse at home. But then it got serious. They stopped waiting for him to cross their path and started hunting him down instead.

The first time Logan Pierce and his crew cornered him after school, he fought back. He didn't care that there were three of them. He swung, landed a punch on Troy's nose, and felt the sick satisfaction of watching blood spurt. But three against one was never a fair fight. Logan got him to the ground, a knee pressing into his chest, fists slamming into his ribs until his body went numb.

"You've got guts, Evans," Logan had said, panting, his lip split from one of Jake's punches. "I like that. So, here's the deal. You can be with us, or you can be our entertainment. What's it gonna be?"

Jake spat blood onto the pavement. He wanted to tell Logan to go to hell. But he wasn't stupid. He knew what would happen if he refused.

So, the next day, when Logan slung an arm around his shoulders in the cafeteria and announced, "Evans is one of us now," Jake just sat there, staring at his untouched food, feeling something inside him break.

Being with them didn't mean he was safe. It just meant the bruises healed slower. Because now, instead of being the one taking the punches, he was expected to throw them.

It was always Logan's orders. "Shove that kid into the locker." "Trip that loser in the hallway." "Take his money." Jake hesitated, at first. But hesitation was weakness, and weakness meant Logan would turn on him. So, he did it. One small thing at a time. Until it wasn't small anymore.

The first time Logan told him to hit someone, he froze. It was a scrawny kid, maybe a freshman, trembling against the lockers, eyes darting around for a teacher who would never come.

"Go on, Evans," Logan had said, nudging him forward. "Show him what happens when you don't respect us."

Jake clenched his fists.

"You want us to beat your ass instead?" Troy whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

So, Jake swung.

The first punch was the hardest.

After that, it got easier.

Days blurred into weeks. The more he fought, the more numb he became. He stopped thinking. Stopped questioning. Stopped feeling. The guilt was there, gnawing at him, but he shoved it down, buried it under every smirk, every sarcastic remark, every hit he delivered.

Then, one night, Logan decided to push things further. "We're gonna have some fun, boys," he had said, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Meet me at school after dark."

Jake should have said no. But the word didn't exist for him anymore.

So, he showed up, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, heart hammering against his ribs. The janitor's closet. That's where Logan led them.

"It's just a joke," Logan said, pulling out a can of lighter fluid.

Jake's stomach twisted.

"No one even goes in here," Troy added. "Just a little fire, a little smoke-scare some people, that's all."

Jake wanted to turn around and leave. But Logan was watching him. So were the others. He couldn't walk away now.

So, he stood there as Logan poured the liquid onto the old wooden floor, as Troy struck a match and let it drop.

Flames crawled up the walls faster than anyone expected. Smoke thickened. The heat became unbearable within seconds.

"Shit," Logan muttered, stepping back. "We should-"

The fire alarm blared.

Everything turned to chaos.

By the time the fire department arrived, the damage was already done. Teachers were yelling. Students were coughing in the parking lot, covering their mouths with their sleeves.

Logan? He just laughed, slipping away before anyone could catch him.

Jake wasn't so lucky.

The next morning, he was called to the principal's office.

"We have security footage, Jake," the principal said, voice laced with disappointment. "You're done here."

He barely reacted as the words expelled echoed around him.

Logan and his crew were waiting for him outside the office.

"Tough break, Evans," Logan said, smirking.

Jake didn't reply. He just walked past them, feeling the weight of his choices crush him from the inside out.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn't a wolf.

He was just lost.

---

Jake knew the moment he walked through the front door that his father had been drinking again. The sharp smell of alcohol clung to the air, mixing with the stale scent of cigarette smoke. His father sat in his usual spot on the sagging couch, a half-empty bottle resting on the coffee table beside him. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw clenched tight.

"So, expelled again," his father muttered, not looking up.

Jake didn't answer. There was no point.

"You think this is a joke?" His father's voice rose, slurring slightly. "You think you can just run around, acting like some damn thug, and it won't catch up to you?"

Jake clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "I didn't-"

"Shut up," his father snapped, slamming the bottle down. "I don't want your excuses."

Jake bit his tongue. He'd been down this road before. His father would rant, throw a few insults his way, and then drown himself in another bottle. It was routine now.

"You're just like your mother," his father spat suddenly, and something inside Jake snapped.

"I am nothing like her," he shot back, his voice cold.

His father let out a bitter laugh. "No? She was a selfish, lying piece of-"

Jake stormed past him before he could finish. He wasn't going to do this tonight. He wasn't going to sit here and listen to his father blame everyone but himself.

He passed the small bedroom where his younger sisters, Emily and Sophie, were asleep. They were the only reason he still cared. The only reason he even tried anymore.

Slamming his own door shut, he sank onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Expelled.

He had no idea what was going to happen next. Another school? His father could barely keep their rent paid-where was he supposed to find the money for another school?

Jake exhaled sharply. He didn't want to think about it.

But Ridgewood High was already being decided for him.

---

The next morning, Jake woke to the sound of his father's gruff voice.

"Get up," he ordered, standing in the doorway.

Jake sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "What?"

"You're going to a new school."

Jake frowned. "What?"

His father sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked exhausted-like he'd spent the whole night drinking and regretting it. "I pulled some strings. You're going to Ridgewood High."

Jake stared at him. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Jake ran a hand through his hair. Ridgewood High. Everyone knew about that place. It wasn't like his last school. It was strict. Disciplined. Only the best students got in.

"How the hell did you get me in there?"

His father sighed. "Doesn't matter. Just don't screw it up."

Jake scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, right."

His father narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not going," Jake snapped.

The room went silent. His father slowly stood up, his posture tense.

"What did you just say?"

Jake crossed his arms. "I said I'm not going. I don't belong in some stuck-up school with a bunch of rich kids who think they're better than me."

His father took a slow breath, trying to keep himself calm. "You don't have a choice."

"I always have a choice," Jake shot back. "And I'm not wasting my time in some school that's just gonna kick me out anyway."

"You think you get to decide that?" His father's voice was rising. "I already pulled every damn favor I could to get you in there. You think I did that for fun? You're going, and that's final."

Jake shook his head, laughing bitterly. "Oh, so now you care about what happens to me? Since when?"

His father's jaw clenched. "Watch yourself, Jake."

"Or what? You'll throw another bottle at me?"

His father's face darkened, and for a second, Jake thought he might actually take a swing at him. But instead, he just exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead.

"You're going," he repeated, quieter this time. "I don't care if you hate me for it. I don't care if you fight me every step of the way. But you're going to Ridgewood High."

Jake glared at him. "No, I'm not."

He turned and stormed toward his room, slamming the door behind him.

He meant it.

---

For the next two days, Jake barely spoke to his father. He refused to fill out any paperwork, ignored every conversation about Ridgewood, and avoided him as much as possible.

But his sisters? They weren't so easy to ignore.

On the third night, as Jake was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Sophie poked her head into his room.

"Jake?" she asked softly.

He sighed. "What, Soph?"

She hesitated, then stepped inside, followed closely by Emily.

"You should go to Ridgewood," Emily said.

Jake groaned. "Not you too."

Sophie climbed onto the bed beside him, hugging her knees. "We just... we don't want you to get in more trouble."

"I can handle myself," Jake muttered.

Emily sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed. "No, you can't. You're just pretending you can. But we see how tired you are. We see how much it's breaking you."

Jake swallowed hard, looking away. "It's not that simple."

"It is," Sophie insisted. "Ridgewood is a good school. A fresh start. Maybe... maybe you won't have to fight so much anymore."

Jake exhaled slowly.

"Please," Sophie whispered. "For us?"

He glanced between them-his little sisters, the only people in the world who still believed in him.

And just like that, he knew he had no choice.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll go."

Sophie smiled, hugging him tightly. Emily just nodded, relief evident in her eyes.

Jake didn't know what Ridgewood High had in store for him. But for them, he would find out.

---