The silence that follows feels alive, breathing with possibility and threat in equal measure. Santiago goes still, as if he too is waiting for verdict.
"Ms. Cruz would accept this arrangement?" the president asks.
I think about pride, about independence, about needing supervision after years of saving lives on my own. Then I thinkabout Santiago, about the bills that need paying, about the people who still need help.
"Yes."
"Then it's settled. Probationary status with supervised practice. Dr. Reeves, you'll submit monthly reports. Any violation, any practice outside his direct supervision, and the license is revoked permanently. You may continue to practice as an RN under his supervision effective immediately."
The gavel falls. Not absolution, but not death either. Something between—like everything else in my life now.
Outside, Izzy hugs me carefully, mindful of my belly. "You still have it, mija. That's what matters."
"Barely. Under supervision like I'm a student again."
"But you HAVE it."
Dr. Reeves approaches, and up close I can see the kindness beneath his professional exterior. "We'll make this work, Lena. I've got the medical director credentials; you've got the trust of people who won't go anywhere else. Together, we can do this right."
"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Why help me?"
"Because I've watched the system fail people for forty years. You're trying to fix that, even if your methods were..." he pauses, choosing words carefully, "enthusiastic. That deserves support, not just punishment."
My phone buzzes.
Zane:How did it go?
Kept my license. Barely.
Twenty minutes later, I'm home and he's at my door, not with words or touches, just presence. A bag of food from the Thai place I mentioned once, weeks ago. The gesture is small, specific, and somehow more intimate than any declaration.
"Supervised practice," I tell him, needing to say it out loud. "Like I can't be trusted."
"Like you're learning to do it legally," he corrects. "There's no shame in that."
But there is. There's shame in every compromise, every step back from who I was toward who I'm being forced to become. Santiago kicks hard enough to make me gasp, and I wonder if he's protesting my surrender or celebrating survival.
That evening, I find it online:Ambulance for sale. $3,000.
My last three thousand dollars. Every penny I have left after lawyers and living expenses. But if I'm going to practice under supervision, if I'm going to rebuild from ashes, it'll be with something that's mine. Even if 'mine' is all I have left.
Chapter forty-two
Breaking Point
Zane
Two nights after Tommy's gone, after the false labor scare, after everything, I'm in the garage at 2 AM, hands deep in an engine, trying to work myself into exhaustion. Sleep isn't happening—hasn't been since Lena nearly went into labor at thirty-two weeks. The garage smells like motor oil and metal, like the only peace I can find when my mind won't stop racing.
I hear footsteps in the clubhouse—soft, hesitant. Not one of the brothers. When I turn, Lena's standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a trench coat, and something in her eyes looks wild, desperate.
"Lena?" I straighten, confusion shifting to something else as I register what she's wearing.
She drops the coat.
The fabric pools at her feet, and she stands there, thirty-two weeks pregnant, naked in my garage. The fluorescent lights show everything—stretch marks like lightning across her skin, breasts heavy with pregnancy, belly round with my child. She's not trying to be beautiful. She's here for something else entirely.
"I need you." Her voice comes out steady, surprising us both. "Just sex. Nothing else."
