Chapter 47 Building Home #4
"She's more than—"
"I know. But does she know you know?" Miguel drops the cigarette, crushes it under his boot. "Just think about it. Abuela's already planning it in her head. Might as well make it official."
He heads back inside, leaving me with thoughts I wasn't ready to have.
Marriage. Not just living together, co-parenting, surviving day to day.
Actual commitment.
Legal, formal, forever.
The idea should terrify me. Six months ago, I was an Iron Talons President with no attachments, no vulnerabilities, nothing to lose.
Now I've got everything to lose.
And somehow, that makes me want to lock it down permanently.
Marry Lena. Make it official. Show Santiago what commitment looks like.
Build something that can't be undone by club politics or enemy retaliation or Ghost's bitter revenge.
The door opens. Lena appears, Santiago asleep in her arms.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"The future. Us. Everything."
She moves closer, leans against me carefully so as not to wake Santiago. "Heavy thoughts for after pozole."
"Miguel suggested something."
"Oh no. What?"
"That Abuela wants to host our wedding here."
Lena goes very still. "Our wedding."
"Yeah."
"We're not married."
"Not yet."
"Are you—" She turns to look at me. "Are you proposing? Right now? Outside your future grandmother-in-law's house after Sunday dinner?"
"Would that be the worst proposal ever?"
"Probably not the worst. But definitely not the best."
"Good to know I have room for improvement." I kiss her temple. "Not proposing yet. But thinking about it. About making it official. About showing Santiago what forever looks like."
"Forever's a long time."
"I'm aware."
"We'd be permanently attaching ourselves to each other. Legally, officially, no backing out when things get hard.
"Things are already hard. And I'm still here."
She's quiet for a long moment, just standing there with our sleeping son between us, the Phoenix night settling around us like a promise.
"Ask me again," she says finally. "When you're ready. When you have an actual plan. When it's not just theoretical future talk but real proposal. Ask me then."
"And you'll say yes?"
"Maybe. Depends on the proposal." But she's smiling. "You'd have to really sell it. Make it good."
"Challenge accepted."
We head back inside to find Abuela directing Izzy in kitchen cleanup, Miguel and Fernando in quiet conversation about club politics, Danny playing on his phone. Normal Sunday dinner chaos.
This is my life now.
Motorcycle club President. Father. Partner to a woman who saves everyone. Part of a family built from enemy territories and impossible odds.
It's complicated. It's exhausting. It's perfect.
And someday—soon—I'm going to ask Lena to marry me.
But first, I need to figure out how to propose to a woman who's seen me at my worst, loved me anyway, and built a family with me despite every reason not to.
No pressure.
Three days later, Dr. Reeves calls with an appointment time for Lena to see the clinic.
Thursday morning, nine AM, Izzy's babysitting.
Lena's nervous—I can tell by the way she keeps fidgeting with her hair, checking her reflection, asking if she looks professional enough.
"You look perfect," I tell her for the fifth time.
"I look like someone who hasn't slept through the night in three months."
"You look like a nurse who's about to see her dream become real."
"No pressure."
"None at all."
The clinic is in a medical plaza on the edge of neutral territory—not Iron Talons, not Coyote Fangs, not Vipers. Just... accessible. Dr. Reeves is already there when we arrive, standing next to a van that's significantly nicer than Lena's old operation.
"Nurse Cruz," he greets her formally, shaking her hand. "Welcome to Cruz Medical Services."
Lena's crying before we even get inside the van.
The interior is professional, clean, properly equipped. Everything she had before but better, legal, official. Medical supplies organized, legitimate insurance billing capabilities.
"This is real," she whispers. "This is actually real."
"You did this," Dr. Reeves says proudly. "All the coursework, all the licensing requirements, all the preparation. I'm just providing oversight. This is your clinic. Your dream."
She tours the van like it's a palace, touching every surface, checking every supply, crying the whole time. I stay back, let her have this moment. This is hers. Her accomplishment, her dream, her power reclaimed.
When she's done with the tour, she turns to me. "I'm not ready to start yet. Santiago needs me home."
"Whenever you're ready," Dr. Reeves assures her. "The clinic's here. Waiting. No rush."
In the parking lot after, Lena just stands there staring at the van.
"You okay?" I ask.
"I have a legal medical practice. An actual, legitimate clinic. With Dr. Reeves's oversight, I can work professionally. Be a real nurse instead of underground healthcare." She turns to me. "How did we get here?"
"You did the work. I just believed in you."
"We did the work. Together." She kisses me, deep and grateful. "Thank you. For supporting this. For believing it was possible when I didn't."
"Always, Angel. This is who you are. Healer, mother, powerful woman who saves everyone. I'm just along for the ride."
"Best ride ever."
"Debatable. I think the ride where we made Santiago was better."
She laughs, swats my arm, but doesn't argue.
We drive home to relieve Izzy, to take back our son, to return to the beautiful chaos of parenthood.
But something's shifted.
Lena has her dream back.
Her purpose reclaimed.
Her power restored.
And I'm going to marry her.
Soon.
Just need to figure out how to propose to a woman who deserves the world and settle for giving her everything I have.
Should be simple, right?
That night, after Santiago's down and Lena's asleep, I sit in our living room with my phone, texting Tommy's sister to pass along a message.
Need advice for Tommy. Going to propose to Lena. Want to do it right. How do I do this?
She responds the next day with Tommy's words from their last visit:
He says make it about her. Not about grand gestures. About what matters to her. Family. Purpose. Santiago.
Show her you see all of it. All of her. Women don't need diamonds and fancy restaurants. They need to be seen. Understood. Chosen.
Show her you choose her. Every day. Forever. The rest is just details.
I sit there with that, letting it sink in.
Choose her.
Show her I see her.
Make it about us, not about show.
Yeah. I can do that.
First step: convince Lena Cruz to become Lena Quinn.
Second step: everything else.