His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 197

Chapter 197

Chapter 197

Claire’s POV

Monday morning arrived with a deceptive calm.

The high from the showcase weekend lingered like a soft glow, but the exhaustion caught up to everyone.

School felt quieter than usual-most people still riding the postvent wave or recovering from late nights.

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Elijah and I moved through breakfast carefully, exchanging small smiles over coffee while Mom hummed about holiday decorating plans.

No one mentioned the fireworks scare, and I was grateful for it.

The day dragged in the best way: classes, notes, a quick lunch with Jessica where we relived every highlight of the showcase.

She kept grinning at me across the table, mouthing “secret’s safe whenever no one was looking.

Elijah passed us in the hall once, nodding politely like the perfect stepbrother, but his eyes held mine a second longer than

necessary.

After school, I had the follow-up appointment with Dr. Adrian.

The clinic was twenty minutes away, tucked in a medical complex with wide windows and too much fluorescent lighting.

I checked in at reception and sat in the waiting area, flipping through an old magazine without really reading it.

My heart felt steady today, no flutters or racing, but the memory of Friday night sat heavy in my mind. The sudden boom. the fall, waking up to everyone’s worried faces. I hated how fragile it made me feel.

“Claire?” The nurse called my name, smiling kindly. “Dr. Adrian is ready.”

I followed her down the hall to the familiar exam room. Blood pressure cuff, scale, the usual routine. Everything checked out normal so far.

Then Dr. Adrian walked in, clipboard in hand, expression neutral but with that faint crease between his brows he got when something concerned him.

“Hello, Claire,” he said, pulling up the rolling stool. “How have you been feeling since Friday?”

“Better,” I answered honestly. “No dizziness today, no racing heat. Just tired.”

He nodded, making notes. “Good. Let’s listen and run a quick EG to be sure.”

The exam was quick-stethoscope cold against my skin, electrodes placed for the trace. He watched the screen as the paper printed out, his face giving nothing away at first.

“Your rhythm looks stable,” he said finally, “which is positive. Bu I’m concerned about the trigger. Loud, unexpected noise shouldn’t cause a full syncopal episode at this stage of your treatment.”

I shifted on the table. “It caught me off guard. Fireworks were arprise.”

He set the clipboard down and looked at me directly. “Claire, weve made excellent progress over the past months. Your episodes were becoming rare. This setback worries me. It suggess your system is still more sensitive than we’d like.”

I swallowed. “So what does that mean?”

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“It means we need to adjust,” he said. “I’m increasing your beta-locker dose slightly and adding a low-dose anti-anxiety medication to help with autonomic triggers. We’ll monitor closely. And-” He paused, choosing his words. “I’d like to discuss activity restrictions again.”

My stomach dropped. “Restrictions?”

“High-stress situations, intense physical exertion, anything that spikes adrenaline suddenly. Your heart can’t handle the same load as a healthy one right now.”

I thought of hockey games, of running with Elijah in wolf form through the snow, of the way my pulse raced when we kissed too fiercely. “For how long?”

“Until we see consistent stability,” he said gently but firmly. “Possibly through graduation. We’ll reassess in spring.”

The room felt smaller. “Dr. Adrian… I’ve been careful. I take my meds, I avoid caffeine, I rest when I need to.”

“I know you have,” he said. “You’ve been an excellent patient. But this flare-up is a warning. If we ignore it, the next one

could be worse.”

I stared at my hands in my lap. Worse. Hospital worse. Or the kind of worse that didn’t let you

wake up.

He wrote the new prescriptions and handed them over. “Start these tonight. Come back in two weeks, sooner if anything feels off. And Claire—” His voice softened. “Talk to someone if the stress is building. Bottling it up doesn’t help your heart either.”

I nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

The drive home blurred. Winter sun low in the sky, bare trees lining the road. I kept replaying his words: activity restrictions, possible through graduation.

My senior year-playoffs with Elijah on the ice, spring runs in the woods, late nights studying and laughing and kissing until we couldn’t breathe. All of it suddenly felt fragile.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, the house lights were on, warm against the early dark. I sat in the car a minute longer. prescriptions crinkling in my pocket.

Inside, Mom was starting dinner. Elijah’s truck was already there he must have gotten home from practice early. I heard his voice in the kitchen, low and laughing at something Ethan said.

I slipped upstairs quietly, needing a moment alone. In my room. I set the new pill bottles on my dresser and stared at them.

One more thing to hide, one more reminder that I wasn’t like everyone else.

A soft knock sounded. Elijah opened the door without waiting, closing it behind him. He took one look at my face and crossed the room fast.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, hands framing my face gently. “How was the appointment?”

I tried to smile. “It was… not great.”

He guided me to sit on the bed, sitting beside me, thigh against mine. “Tell me.”

I handed him the prescription slips. He read them silently, jaw tightening.

“Increase in meds,” he said quietly. “And restrictions?”

“Through graduation, maybe,” I whispered. “No high-stress stuff No big adrenaline spikes.”

His eyes flashed gold for a second before he controlled it. “Because of the fireworks?”

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