Chapter 46 Cruz Blood #3
"Humor me," Izzy interrupts. "Someday Santiago's going to ask about this moment. When two enemy clubs made peace over a baby. And we're going to have photo evidence that it actually happened."
Miguel looks at me. I shrug, too emotionally exhausted to argue. Zane just adjusts his hold on Santiago and waits.
"Lena in the middle," Izzy directs like she's staging a magazine shoot. "Zane on one side with Santiago, Miguel on the other. Nobody has to look at each other. Just look at the baby."
We arrange ourselves awkwardly—me propped up in the hospital bed, exhausted but trying to smile. Zane on my right, holding Santiago with surprising tenderness. Miguel on my left, hand resting on my shoulder like he's afraid to let go now that he's back.
Both men carefully not looking at each other. Both looking at Santiago.
Both here.
Both trying.
"Perfect," Izzy says, snapping multiple photos. "Santiago's going to see these someday and know he's loved by everyone. Even the ones who were supposed to hate each other."
"Especially those ones," I murmur.
After the photos, Miguel checks his phone and swears softly in Spanish. "Danny's been waiting outside for an hour. I need to go before this gets harder to explain."
"When will I see you again?" The question comes out more desperate than I intend.
"Sunday dinner. At Abuela's house." Miguel's expression softens. "She wants to meet him. She's been praying for you both. For all three of you, actually."
"She wants to see me?" Fresh tears threaten. "I thought she'd be disappointed. Pregnant out of wedlock, with the enemy—"
"She's Catholic, not heartless," Miguel interrupts. "She wants to meet her great-grandson. That trumps everything else. She said, and I quote: 'The father of my great-grandson will sit at my table and eat my pozole. I don't care what colors he wears.'"
Zane looks surprised. "Your grandmother wants me at her table?"
"She also said if you hurt Lena or Santiago, she'll beat you with her chancla and no amount of motorcycle club backup will save you." Miguel almost smiles. "So there are conditions."
"That's fair," Zane says seriously.
"Sunday. Six o'clock. Don't be late. Abuela hates tardiness almost as much as she hates people who hurt her family."
"We'll be there," I promise.
Miguel moves to the bed, kisses my forehead like he used to when I was little and scared. "Te quiero, mija."
"Te quiero, Miguel." My voice breaks. "Thank you for coming. For being here. For trying."
"Always." He looks at Santiago one more time. "Adiós, sobrino. Tío will see you soon. I promise you that."
After Miguel leaves, the room feels simultaneously emptier and fuller. Like his presence took up physical space, but his departure left room for me to breathe.
Zane settles carefully on the edge of the bed, still holding Santiago. "You okay?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I got my brother back. But he's going to face consequences for being here. And Ghost is making trouble. And everything is complicated and fragile and terrifying."
"When isn't it?"
"Fair point." I lean against Zane's shoulder, careful not to jostle Santiago. "How did it go? At the club?"
"I kept my Presidency. Seven to two. Ghost left. Tommy's VP now."
"Tommy? Not Joker?"
"Tommy was the right choice. Experience. Loyalty. Someone who'll tell me when I'm being an idiot." Zane pauses. "Ghost won't let this go. He's already talking to other clubs, trying to build alliances against me."
"Including Coyote Fangs."
"Including Coyote Fangs." He looks down at Santiago. "Our son is either going to be the thing that brings peace or the thing that starts a war. No pressure."
"He's two days old. Maybe we give him a few years before assigning that responsibility?"
"Probably smart."
We sit in silence for a moment. Santiago sleeping peacefully between us, completely unaware that his existence has already changed the political landscape of Phoenix's motorcycle clubs.
"Miguel risked a lot to come here," Zane says quietly.
"I know."
"And he's going to risk more at Sunday dinner. Bringing us to meet your grandmother, having me at a family table. That's not nothing."
"Nothing about us has ever been nothing. We're chaos and complications and impossible choices all the way down."
"Yeah." Zane kisses my temple. "But we're here. And we're together. And he's perfect. That has to count for something."
"It counts for everything."
Two hours later, a nurse appears looking extremely uncomfortable.
"Ms. Cruz? You have... several visitors. They're causing a bit of a scene in the waiting room."
My stomach drops. "Who?"
"Motorcycle clubs? Both of them? Security is getting nervous."
Zane and I exchange looks.
"Fuck," he says succinctly.
"Eloquent as always," I mutter, already trying to get out of bed and immediately regretting it. Two days post-delivery, my body is filing multiple complaints.
"Stay," Zane says. "I'll handle it."
"No." I grab his arm. "We handle this together."
"Lena—"
"Together, Zane. That's how this works."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. Helps me into my robe, supports me as we walk slowly to the door. Every step is a reminder that I recently pushed a seven-pound human out of my body, but I'm not letting both motorcycle clubs converge on my hospital room without being present for it.
The hallway is a scene.
On one side: Iron Talons. Tommy with his new VP patch, Joker, Blade, Colt. All leather cuts and controlled aggression.
On the other side: Coyote Fangs. Miguel looking tense, Danny, and two other members I don't recognize immediately.
Both sides watching each other. Hospital security watching both sides nervously. Nurses trying to figure out if they should call actual police.
It's a powder keg waiting for a match.
"This is a hospital," I say loudly, and every head turns. "My son is two days old. You want to kill each other? Do it somewhere else. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him."
Tommy has the grace to look slightly abashed. "We just wanted to see the baby. Congratulate our President."
"Same," Miguel says from the other side. "Came to see my nephew."
"Fine," I say, exhaustion making me sharp. "But not all at once. Hospital rules—two visitors at a time. And you don't glare at each other in my hallway like territorial dogs. This is neutral ground. Act like it."
One of the Coyote Fangs members I don't know steps forward. "Miguel. The President wants you back. Now."
Miguel's jaw tightens. "I'm meeting my nephew."
"The President didn't authorize this visit."
"I don't need authorization to meet my family."
"You do when your family is the enemy," the man says, and his tone makes it clear this isn't a suggestion.
Tommy moves forward from the Iron Talons side. "Problem here?"
"Club business," the Coyote Fangs member snaps. "Not yours."
"It's our President's kid. Makes it our business."
The tension ratchets up about fifty notches. I can feel violence brewing, that electric charge in the air before fists start flying.
"Enough!" I snap, and maybe it's the post-partum hormones or the exhaustion or the sheer audacity of these men almost starting a fight outside my hospital room, but something in my voice makes everyone stop.
"This is a hospital. There are sick people here.
Children. Families trying to heal. And you're going to stand here and threaten each other over motorcycle club politics? "
I turn to the Coyote Fangs member who's trying to collect Miguel. "He's meeting his nephew. His sister just gave birth. If your President has a problem with that, he can take it up with Miguel later. But not here. Not now."
Then I turn to Tommy. "You want to meet Santiago? You can. Two at a time. Quietly. Like civilized humans instead of territorial animals."
"Yes, ma'am," Tommy says, and there's the slightest hint of amusement in his expression.
I look at Miguel. "You have to go with them, don't you?"
His expression is resigned. "Yeah. I do."
"Will you be okay?"
"I've had worse." But the way he says it suggests he's expecting exactly that—worse.
"Sunday," I say firmly. "Six o'clock. At Abuela's. You be there."
"I'll be there. I promise." He looks at the Coyote Fangs members. "Let's go. I'm coming."
He walks past me, pauses to squeeze my shoulder. "Thank you, mija. For letting me meet him. For giving me another chance."
"Always," I whisper. "You're my brother. That doesn't change."
I watch them leave—Miguel and the Coyote Fangs members, tension evident in every line of their bodies. Whatever happens when Miguel gets back to his President won't be pleasant.
But he came. He met Santiago. He's trying.
That has to be enough for now.
"Okay," I say, turning back to the Iron Talons members. "Who wants to go first?"
The next hour is surreal.
Tommy comes in first with Joker. Tommy, who's now Zane's VP, who's been there from the beginning of this chaos. He holds Santiago with the careful reverence of someone who knows how fragile babies are.
"He's perfect," Tommy says quietly. "Congratulations, Lena."
"Thank you. For everything. For supporting Zane."
"That's what brothers do." He looks at Zane. "You did good, Z. The vote, the baby, all of it. I'm proud of you."
Zane's expression does something complicated at that—the closest thing I've ever seen to him being genuinely moved
Blade comes next with Colt. Blade makes a joke about Santiago having "good head shape for a helmet," which is absurd but somehow sweet. Colt's wife Maria sends her congratulations and a promise to bring food by the house when we're settled.
Each Iron Talons member who comes in treats this moment with respect. They're meeting their President's son, yes. But they're also meeting a baby. A tiny person who has nothing to do with club politics and everything to do with hope for something different.
After the Iron Talons members leave, I'm exhausted beyond words. Zane can see it, starts ushering the last few visitors out.
"She needs rest," he tells Blade. "Tell anyone else who's planning to visit that they can come by the house next week."
"Will do. Congratulations again, both of you."
After everyone's gone, it's just us. Me, Zane, and Santiago in the suddenly quiet hospital room.
I sink into the bed, every muscle aching. "Today was insane."
"Miguel came," Zane says, settling next to me.
"Miguel came. He apologized. He cried. He wants us at Sunday dinner."
"Both clubs visited."
"And didn't kill each other in the hallway."
"Ghost is gone from Iron Talons."
"What happened there exactly?"
Zane tells me about the Church meeting. The vote. Ghost's accusations. The seven-to-two result. Ghost dropping his VP patch and walking out. Tommy stepping up.
"He won't let this go," I say when he's done. "Ghost, I mean. He'll be a problem."
"Yeah. But not today." Zane pulls me carefully against his side, mindful of my tender body. "Today we celebrate. Miguel came. I'm still President. Santiago's perfect. That's enough."
"It's more than enough. It's everything."
We sit in comfortable silence, exhaustion pulling at both of us. The Phoenix sun is setting outside the window, painting the room in warm oranges and deep purples.
"I have something to tell you," Zane says.
"More surprises? I don't know if I can handle more today."
"This one's good. I rented us a house."
I pull back to look at him. "What?"
"A real house. Not the clubhouse. Two bedrooms, quiet neighborhood. Neutral territory. We can bring Santiago home tomorrow."
The tears start again—I'm crying more than I'm not crying at this point, hormones making everything overwhelming. "You rented us a house?"
"We can't raise him in a clubhouse, Lena. He needs a home. We need a home. Somewhere that's just ours."
"When did you do this?"
"Signed the lease the morning he was born. Before the Church meeting. Had Tommy and some brothers get it set up while I was here. Wanted it ready when you were."
I kiss him, deep and grateful and full of everything I can't say. "You're full of surprises, Diablo."
"Learned from the best, Angel."
Santiago makes a small sound—not quite a cry, just a reminder that he exists and has needs and we're his entire world.
"Your turn to change him," I say.
"Pretty sure it's your turn."
"I pushed him out of my body. That bought me at least three days of turn-passing privileges."
Zane laughs, carefully extracts himself from the bed, and goes to handle the diaper situation. I watch him—this man who's the President of a motorcycle club, who's killed people, who's dangerous and complicated and somehow impossibly gentle with our tiny son.
"We're going to be okay," I say, more to myself than to him.
"Yeah," Zane agrees, expertly handling the diaper change. "We are."
"It's not going to be easy."
"Nothing about us has been easy."
"True. We started with a wrong number text and accidentally fell in love while being enemies."
"Best accident ever," Zane says, bringing Santiago back to me.
I take our son, settle him for another feeding. Zane sits next to us, and we exist in this bubble of peace. Tomorrow will bring new complications—Miguel facing his President's wrath, Ghost plotting revenge, two clubs balanced on the knife's edge of war.
But tonight, in this hospital room with the Phoenix sunset painting everything gold, we're just a family.
Impossible and beautiful and worth every complicated thing that came before.
Miguel came back.
Zane kept his Presidency.
Santiago is loved by both sides.
Worth everything.
Worth it all.
Tomorrow we go home—to the house Zane rented, to the life we're building, to the impossible future we're creating one day at a time.
But tonight?
Tonight we're just this.
This family.
This love.
This perfect, complicated, absolutely impossible miracle.