"No, you can't." She shifts, wincing as Santiago adjusts position. "But I'm choosing to trust again. Not because you deserve it, but because he does." Her hand covers her belly. "He deserves parents who can at least try to trust each other."
"Lena—"
"I'm not saying I forgive you. I'm saying I'm choosing to move forward. There's a difference."
Before I can respond, she gasps, her hand gripping my arm.
"Contraction?"
"No. He just... dropped. I can feel it. He's lower."
"Should we go to the hospital?"
"Not yet. Morrison said I'd know when it's time." She leans into me, and I wrap my arm around her carefully. "Tell me about the clinic."
"What?"
"The mobile clinic. Our future. Tell me about it."
So I do. I tell her about the meeting with Dr. Reeves yesterday, the one she insisted I take even though she couldn't be there.
"Partnership," I say. "Sixty-forty split after expenses. You're the majority owner."
"I didn't earn—"
"You earned it with every life you saved, legal or not. He wants to call it Reeves-Cruz Mobile Health."
"Legal. Licensed. Legitimate." She says the words like a prayer.
"A real future. Not just for us, but for the community."
"And you're okay with that? Your baby mama running a legitimate business while you run an outlaw club?"
"My baby mama can do whatever the fuck she wants as long as she's happy."
She's quiet for a moment, then: "What if what makes me happy is you?"
The words hang between us like a challenge and a promise.
"Then we figure it out. Day by day. Like normal people."
"We're not normal people."
"No," I agree. "We're better. We're survivors."
The next two days pass in a surreal bubble. Lena organizes and reorganizes the nursery. I deal with club business while never being more than thirty feet from her. The brothers take shifts on baby watch. Even Miguel shows up, awkward and tentative, bringing a stuffed rabbit that probably cost more than most people's rent.
"For my nephew," he says, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Thanks," I manage, equally uncomfortable.
We stand there, two men who love the same woman different ways, who've hurt her different ways, trying to find common ground in the child about to arrive.
"If you fuck this up," Miguel says quietly, "if you hurt them—"
"You'll kill me. I know."
"No." He looks at me then, really looks at me. "She'll kill you herself. I'll just help hide the body."
