Chapter 46 Cruz Blood #2
I process this slowly, medical mind working through the implications. "You disowned me to protect me?"
"I disowned you because I was ordered to. But yeah, it also kept you alive. Coyote Fangs was talking about making an example. About what happens when you choose the enemy. Your name came up in ways that made my blood cold."
The hospital room tilts. All this time I thought he abandoned me because I wasn't worth fighting for. But he was fighting for me. Just in the worst possible way.
"And now?" I ask. "Coming here? Does your President know?"
Miguel's jaw tightens. "No."
"Miguel—"
"He finds out, I'm fucked. Demoted at minimum. Beaten out at worst. Maybe worse than that." His voice drops. "But I couldn't... I couldn't not meet him. He's my blood. He's a Cruz."
Fresh tears stream down my face. "You risked everything to come here."
"I've already lost five months with you. I'm not losing more." His voice breaks again. "Now can I please meet my nephew before I lose my nerve?"
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat.
Miguel approaches the bed carefully. I show him how to support Santiago's head, how to hold him securely. The transfer happens slowly, both of us treating this moment like the sacred thing it is.
And then Santiago is in Miguel's arms.
The transformation is instant.
The hard Coyote Fangs lieutenant crumbles. The protective older brother softens. The man who disowned me five months ago becomes the brother who taught me to ride a bike, who walked me through my first heartbreak, who paid for nursing school, who raised me when our parents died.
He's just Miguel again.
My brother.
Crying over my baby.
Our family's second chance.
"Díos mío," he whispers, tears streaming freely now. "He's perfect."
Santiago's tiny hand reaches up, grips Miguel's finger with surprising strength.
Miguel laughs through his tears. "Strong grip. Cruz blood."
"He's stubborn too," I say, smiling despite everything. "Reeves genes."
"Unfortunately." Miguel studies Santiago's face with the intensity of someone memorizing every detail. "He has Dad's nose. And your eyes. And..." He touches Santiago's dark hair gently. "His father's hair."
The acknowledgment of Zane sends tension rippling through the moment, but Miguel doesn't pull away.
"How much did he weigh?" he asks.
"Seven pounds, two ounces. Nineteen inches long. Born at thirty-seven weeks, one day. After we almost lost him at thirty-three weeks."
Miguel's head snaps up. "What happened?"
"Preterm labor. They stopped it. Put me on bed rest at the clubhouse for a month. Then labor started again at thirty-seven weeks. Seventeen hours, then he was here."
"Were you alone?"
"No. Zane was there. And Izzy.
Miguel's jaw tightens. "But not me."
"You said I was dead to you," I say quietly. "I didn't think I could call."
"You can always call. Even when I'm being an asshole." He looks back down at Santiago. "Especially when I'm being an asshole. Soy un pendejo. I know this."
Despite everything, I laugh. "That's a high bar you're setting."
Miguel sits carefully in the chair next to the bed, still cradling Santiago. He can't stop staring at him. Touching tiny fingers, counting tiny toes, speaking softly in the Spanish our father taught us.
"Hola, sobrino," he murmurs. "Soy tu Tío Miguel. I fucked up with your mamá, but I won't fuck up with you. I promise you that. You'll know your tío. You'll know where you come from. The Cruz side. Your abuelo's name, your family, your history."
"Miguel—" My voice breaks.
"Let me say this. Please." He looks back at Santiago. "Your mamá is the strongest person I know. She survived losing our parents. She became a nurse. She saves people every day. And she's going to be an incredible mother to you. Better than I was a brother to her."
"Don't say that."
"It's true. I abandoned her when she needed me. But I'm here now. And I'm not leaving again. Not you, not her, not this family." He looks up at me, and his eyes are raw with emotion. "If you'll let me. If you can forgive me."
The tears won't stop. I'm crying so hard Santiago starts to fuss, picking up on my distress even from Miguel's arms.
"You hurt me," I manage. "You really hurt me."
"I know."
"I needed you and you weren't there."
"I know."
"And now you show up because there's a baby? Because Izzy called you?"
"I should have shown up before. The second I said you were dead to me, I regretted it. But I was too proud, too stupid, too scared to admit I was wrong."
"Why now? Why come now?"
"Because Izzy called and said you had a baby, and I realized I've already missed five months of your life.
Five months I'll never get back. Your entire pregnancy.
The complications. The fear. The birth. I can't miss any more.
I won't miss watching this baby grow up. I won't miss being your brother again."
Santiago fusses louder, and Miguel looks panicked. "Did I break him?"
Despite everything, I laugh through my tears. "He's hungry. And probably needs changing. You didn't break him."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." I hold out my arms. "Give him here."
Miguel transfers Santiago carefully, reluctantly. Like he's afraid if he lets go, the moment will evaporate, and we'll be strangers again.
I settle Santiago for nursing, and Miguel politely looks away—old habits from when I was a kid, and he was the teenage brother trying not to be awkward about normal body stuff.
"You're always going to be my brother," I say softly while Santiago nurses. "Even when you're being an asshole."
Miguel looks back at me, hope and grief warring in his expression. "Even after everything?"
"Even after everything. You're family. That doesn't just stop because you fuck up. Even when you fuck up catastrophically."
"I really did fuck up catastrophically."
"You absolutely did."
"Can we..." He stops, starts again. "Can I be part of his life? Sunday dinners, birthdays, teaching him Spanish? All of it?"
"Do you really want that? Or are you just saying it because you feel guilty?"
"I want it. All of it. I want to be Tío Miguel. I want him to know his family. To know where he comes from." His voice drops. "I want my sister back."
"You never really lost her. I was always here. You just weren't looking."
"I'm looking now."
"I see that."
We sit in silence for a moment. Santiago eating, Miguel watching us both, the weight of five months slowly lifting.
"What happens when your President finds out you were here?" I ask.
Miguel's expression hardens. "I deal with it."
"Miguel—"
"I made my choice, Lena. Family over orders. Whatever happens, happens."
"You could lose your position."
"I already lost five months with you because I followed orders. I'm not making that mistake again."
Before I can respond, there's a knock at the door.
I know that knock. Know it in my bones, in my blood, in the way my entire body responds to it.
Zane.
"Come in," I call, heart suddenly racing.
The door opens and Zane fills the doorway—Iron Talons President cut, cautious expression, ready for anything. His eyes sweep the room, taking in Miguel holding the photo Izzy just snapped on her phone, me in the bed with Santiago, the scene of impossible peace.
"You okay?" he asks me first. Always me first.
I nod, smiling through fresh tears. "Yeah. We're okay."
His shoulders drop slightly—relief. "Cruz," he says, acknowledging Miguel.
"Quinn." Miguel's voice is neutral, controlled. "Congratulations on keeping your Presidency."
Zane's surprise flickers across his face. "Word travels fast."
"Ghost is already talking to other clubs. Including making noise around Coyote Fangs. My President's been asking questions about you."
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees. "Is your President interested?" Zane asks carefully.
"He's listening. Which is why me being here is..." Miguel gestures vaguely. "Problematic."
"What does that mean?" I ask, though part of me already knows.
Miguel looks at me, and his expression is resigned. "It means if my President finds out I'm at the hospital with my sister and the Iron Talons President, he'll see it as betrayal. As me choosing family over club. And he'll remove me. Violently."
Zane's jaw tightens. "So why are you here?"
Miguel looks down at Santiago, now back in my arms. "Because he's my nephew. Because she's my sister. Because some things are worth getting your ass kicked for."
Something passes between them—a look of mutual understanding that makes my chest tight. Both of them chose family. Both of them are risking everything for it.
"May I?" Zane asks, gesturing to Santiago.
I nod, and Zane crosses to the bed. The transfer happens smoothly now—we've been doing this for two days, getting the rhythm down.
Zane settles Santiago against his chest with practiced ease, and I see Miguel notice it.
Notice that Zane knows what he's doing. That he's been here, been present, been a father.
"He needs to be burped," Miguel says. "He just ate."
"I know," Zane says quietly, positioning Santiago. "I've been doing this for two days now."
Miguel blinks, surprised. "You know how to burp a baby?"
"I'm his father. I'm learning."
"Good." Miguel nods slowly. "That's... good."
The moment stretches, weighted with everything unsaid. These two men who should be enemies, passing my son between them like a peace offering. Like proof that maybe, just maybe, things can be different.
The door opens and Izzy slips back in, phone in hand and determination in her eyes.
"I need a photo of this," she announces.
"Izzy, no—" I start.
"Yes. This moment matters." She looks at all of us—me in the hospital bed, Zane holding Santiago, Miguel standing awkwardly nearby. "Iron Talons President, Coyote Fangs lieutenant, and one tiny baby who's about to save both your asses. Now everybody smile before I start crying and ruin my makeup."
"We're not—" Miguel begins.