Chapter 47 Building Home #2
"Not yet. But it could be." I hand her the coffee, watch her take that first grateful sip. "He's not going to let it go. The Presidency, the vote, losing to me. It's eating at him."
"So we deal with it when it becomes a real problem?"
"Yeah. One crisis at a time." I gesture to Santiago, who's given up on tummy time and is staring at his own hand like it's the most fascinating thing in the universe. "Right now, this is the crisis. And figuring out how to function on four hours of sleep."
"I have a solution for that," Lena says.
"Yeah?"
"We call Izzy and beg for mercy."
As if summoned by the mere mention of her name, there's a knock at the door. I check the window—Izzy's car in the driveway, the woman herself already walking up with bags in both hands.
"She's psychic," Lena mutters. "That's the only explanation."
I open the door. Izzy breezes in like she owns the place, dumps grocery bags on the kitchen counter, and immediately zeroes in on us with the assessment of a general surveying defeated troops.
"You both look like death," she announces cheerfully.
"Good morning to you too," Lena says.
"When's the last time either of you showered? Ate a vegetable? Had a conversation that wasn't about baby poop?"
"Yesterday? Maybe?"
"That's it. I'm taking Santiago for four hours. You two are going to sleep, shower, and remember you're humans." Izzy's already picking up the diaper bag, checking the contents with practiced efficiency. "Don't argue. I'm his godmother. This is literally my job."
"Izzy, we can't just—" Lena starts.
"Can and will." Izzy scoops up Santiago from his play mat. He immediately lights up, recognizing his favorite person who isn't his parents. "Hey, mijo. Want to go to Auntie Izzy's for a few hours? We're going to let your parents sleep like normal people."
"We should at least—"
"Nope. Not listening." Izzy's already got Santiago settled on her hip, grabbing his diaper bag. "I have bottles. I have diapers. I have entertainment. You have four hours of freedom. Sleep or have sex or just stare at a wall without being interrupted. I don't care. But you're taking a break."
She's out the door before either of us can form a coherent protest.
The house goes quiet.
Actually quiet.
No baby sounds, no crying, no needs demanding immediate attention. Just silence.
Lena and I look at each other.
"We should sleep," she says.
"Yeah."
Neither of us moves.
"Why is it weird?" Lena asks. "Being alone with you?"
"Because we haven't been alone since the hospital. It's been three months of being 'Mom and Dad' and I forgot how to be just... us."
She nods slowly. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be a mother and a partner and myself all at once. I feel like I'm failing at all three." Her voice drops. "My body doesn't feel like mine. I'm exhausted all the time. I love Santiago but I also miss my old life. And I feel guilty for feeling that way."
I move closer, pull her into my arms. She comes easily, tucking her face against my chest. "You're not failing."
"Feels like it."
"You want to know what I see?"
"Probably not but tell me anyway."
"I see you getting up every two hours to feed him.
Healing from childbirth while running on no sleep.
Still being the smartest person I know. Still treating patients—you saw Rope's kid last week for free when he had that fever.
Still being beautiful even when you're covered in spit-up and haven't washed your hair in three days. "
"That's not beautiful. That's survival."
"That's both." I tilt her face up to look at me. "You're magnificent, Lena. Changed body and all. You grew a human. You're keeping him alive. You're holding our family together. That's power."
Her eyes fill with tears. "I don't feel powerful. I feel like I'm drowning."
"Then we drown together. That's the deal." I kiss her forehead. "We're in this together. The exhaustion, the chaos, the beautiful impossible mess of it all. Together."
"Promise?"
"Always."
She rests her head back against my chest. We stand there in the quiet house, holding each other, remembering how to be a couple instead of just co-parents.
"We should really sleep," she murmurs against my shirt.
"Yeah. We should."
But we stay there, holding each other, stealing this moment of peace before the chaos inevitably returns.
Eventually we make it to the bedroom. Both too tired to do anything but collapse into bed, fully clothed, tangled together. Sleep hits like a freight train—immediate, heavy, desperately needed.
I wake to my phone buzzing. Disoriented, I check the time—we've been asleep for three hours. Feels like three minutes.
The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is local. I answer before it can wake Lena.
"Yeah?"
"This is a collect call from—" automated voice, then Tommy's voice cuts in: "Tommy Martinez."
My heart does something complicated. "—an inmate at Arizona State Prison. To accept charges, press one."
I press one. Move carefully off the bed, slip into the hallway so I don't wake Lena.
"Tommy."
"Hey, Z." His voice sounds rough, tired. Prison does that. "Sorry for the collect call bullshit. You know how it is."
"Don't apologize. How you holding up?"
"I'm alive. Keeping my head down. Doing my time." Pause. "How's the kid?"
"Perfect. Exhausting. Worth every sleepless night."
"And Lena?"
"Strong. Tired. Beautiful. Exactly what you'd expect."
"You tell her that?"
"Working on it."
"Work harder." There's a smile in his voice. "Women need to hear it, especially after having babies. Trust me on this."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Speaking from regrets. My son... I didn't tell him enough. Didn't show him enough. Then he was gone and I had nothing but regrets." His voice goes quiet. "Don't be me, Z. Don't wait until it's too late to show them what they mean to you."
The weight of that sits heavy. Tommy's son died young—gang violence, drugs, the same shit that claims too many kids.
Tommy's been carrying that grief for years, let it shape him into the man who became my mentor.
Now he's in prison paying for club decisions while I'm out here raising a son, getting the chance he never had.
"I won't waste it," I say. "I promise."
"Good. Because that kid deserves better than what my son got. He deserves a father who shows up. Who's present. Who chooses family."
"Every day."
"That's all I needed to hear." Pause, then: "How's the club?"
"Stable. Joker's doing good as VP. The brothers are solid. Ghost is making noise externally but nothing we can't handle."
"Ghost won't let it go."
"I know."
"Watch your back, Z. Men like him... they don't forgive. They plan. They wait. They strike when you're comfortable."
"I'm never comfortable."
"Good. Stay paranoid. It'll keep you alive." Another pause. "I gotta go. Phone time's limited. But Z?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm proud of you. The way you fought for them. Kept your Presidency. Built something good out of chaos. You did that. Not me. You."
"Learned from the best."
"Nah. You did this yourself. I just pointed you in the right direction sometimes." His voice gets thick. "Take care of them, Z. They're your legacy now. Not the club. Them."
The line goes dead.
I stand in the hallway, phone in hand, Tommy's words echoing in my head. *They're your legacy now.*
From the bedroom, I hear Lena stirring. From somewhere in Phoenix, Santiago is with Izzy, probably being spoiled beyond reason. Tommy's in prison. Ghost is plotting. The club is stable but fragile. Everything is complicated and dangerous and could fall apart at any moment.
But we're here.
We're alive.
We're trying.
Late afternoon, I get another call. This one I'm expecting.
"Dr. Reeves," I answer. "Good to hear from you."
"Zane. Is Lena available?"
Lena's in the kitchen making actual food for the first time in days—Izzy brought groceries and instructions to "eat something that isn't microwaved." I wave to get her attention, mouth "Dr. Reeves."
She comes over immediately, face doing that thing it does when she's trying to manage expectations. I put the call on speaker.
"Dr. Reeves? It's Lena."
"Lena, good. I wanted to talk to you both about the clinic."
"Is there a problem?" Lena's voice goes tight.
"The opposite. It's ready." Dr. Reeves sounds pleased with himself. "Legal, licensed, properly equipped. Cruz Medical Services is officially operational."
The expression on Lena's face—shock, joy, disbelief all at once.
"You're serious?" she asks.
"Very serious. You completed all the coursework remotely while on bed rest. Passed all licensing requirements. With my oversight, you can now work as a legitimate medical practice. The van's been outfitted with everything you need. You just need to come see it."
"I..." Lena's crying now, one hand over her mouth. "I didn't think it would actually happen."
"It happened. Your dream is real. Come by whenever you're ready. No rush—you're three months postpartum, I know you need time. But when you're ready, Cruz Medical Services is waiting."
After we hang up, Lena just stands there, tears streaming down her face.
"You did it," I say quietly. "You actually fucking did it."
"We did it. You supported this. Believed in it when everyone else thought I was crazy."
"You are crazy. But the good kind." I pull her close. "Your clinic. Legal and everything. No more operating in the shadows. No more running from cops. Just... legitimate healthcare."
"I'm not ready to go back yet," she says against my chest. "Santiago needs me."
"He needs you. But you also need you. Your work, your purpose, your identity beyond being Mom." I pull back to look at her. "When you're ready, it's there. And I'll support you. Even though it terrifies me."
"Why does it terrify you?"
"Because you'll be out there. Treating people in dangerous situations. Going into territories where anything could happen. And I can't protect you from that."
"I don't need you to protect me from my calling."