His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 77

**Chapter 77**

**Elijah’s POV**

As I pushed open the door to the gym office, I stepped into a hallway that felt almost deserted, the echoes of my footsteps mingling with the distant sounds of the outside world. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat and disinfectant, a reminder of the grueling practice sessions that had just concluded. My hoodie clung to my back, damp and uncomfortable, a testament to the effort I had exerted during the drills.

Coach Turner walked alongside me, his eyes glued to the clipboard he was flipping through with a practiced ease. “You’re cleared,” he announced, his tone a mix of authority and relief. “Medically and physically. Your reflexes are back, your aim’s solid, and your stamina’s better than before.”

I nodded, a sense of cautious optimism swelling within me. “So I’m in for next season?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

A slight smile crept onto his face, softening the lines of worry that usually etched his features. “You were always in. I just needed the paperwork to confirm it. But, Elijah—” He halted mid-stride, turning to face me, his gaze penetrating as he studied my expression. “You need to keep your head straight this time. No more fights. No disappearances, no random distractions during the game. You’re our star player, not a liability.”

“I get it,” I replied, my tone steady, though inside I felt a flicker of apprehension.

“I mean it,” he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, a stance that radiated both concern and authority. “You’ve had… a rough year. Whatever’s going on at home, or in your life, don’t bring it here. The team is counting on you.”

I adjusted the strap of my sports bag, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily on my shoulders. “I’ll handle it.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening momentarily before he clapped a hand on my shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie, before making his way toward the main exit.

Once he disappeared down the corridor, I lingered in the hallway for a brief moment, the sound of rain tapping rhythmically against the roof filtering through the stillness around me. My reflection caught my eye in the trophy case—tired eyes that belonged to a young boy, a small scar marring my jawline, hair slicked back yet slightly damp from the humidity of the gym.

Suddenly, my thoughts began to drift, unbidden and unwelcome.

Claire’s image flashed in my mind, her eyes fierce when she felt threatened, the quiet, almost vulnerable look she wore when she thought no one was watching. It was a fleeting moment, but I quickly willed it away, not wanting to dwell on it any longer than necessary.

In response, my wolf stirred restlessly in the recesses of my mind, a primal instinct awakening within me.

Not now, I muttered inwardly, hoping to quell his agitation.

But he didn’t listen. Instead, he paced uneasily, mirroring the tension that began to creep under my skin.

I exhaled deeply, attempting to shake off the sudden wave of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me. It was probably just exhaustion or perhaps guilt gnawing at my insides.

Seeking refuge, I stepped into the nearest empty classroom, the lights dimmed, save for the muted gray glow filtering through the windows. Desks lay scattered across the room, and chairs were pushed haphazardly against the walls, creating an atmosphere of disarray.

That’s when I caught sight of someone seated by the window.

Her shoulders were hunched, and her hair was pulled back in a disheveled manner. She was crying, her hands obscuring her face, and the sight stopped me dead in my tracks. I would recognize that silhouette anywhere.

Jessica.

What on earth was she doing back here?

She shouldn’t have been at school yet. After the chaos that unfolded with Claire, she had been suspended for weeks, and I had assumed her time here was over for good. The thought of her return was unsettling.

When she heard my presence, she looked up, her eyes red and puffy, mascara smudged beneath them. To my surprise, a small smile broke through her tears.

“Elijah,” she said softly, almost hesitantly. “Hey.”

I remained silent, unwilling to engage.

She hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand, a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of composure. “It’s been a while.”

I lingered by the door, my body tense. “Did the school lift your suspension already?” I asked, my voice steady but laced with skepticism.

Her shoulders sagged, a sign of defeat. “They said I could come back early. My dad—” She faltered, her voice trailing off. “He spoke to the board.”

Of course he did. Her father’s influence permeated every corner of this institution, and it was no surprise they would bend the rules for the daughter of a major donor. Money often drowned out the consequences of one’s actions. Still, I knew her father was a strict man, so she must have faced some form of punishment.

I chose not to respond to her statement. She seemed to sense my hesitation, and her expression shifted to one of regret.

“Elijah,” she repeated, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “I’m sorry.”

Before I could muster a response, she slid off her chair and dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as they pressed against the floor.

A surge of discomfort shot through me, and my brow furrowed instinctively.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify