"When will I see you again?" The question comes out more desperate than I intend.
"Sunday dinner. At Abuela's house." Miguel's expression softens. "She wants to meet him. She's been praying for you both. For all three of you, actually."
"She wants to see me?" Fresh tears threaten. "I thought she'd be disappointed. Pregnant out of wedlock, with the enemy—"
"She's Catholic, not heartless," Miguel interrupts. "She wants to meet her great-grandson. That trumps everything else. She said, and I quote: 'The father of my great-grandson will sit at my table and eat my pozole. I don't care what colors he wears.'"
Zane looks surprised. "Your grandmother wants me at her table?"
"She also said if you hurt Lena or Santiago, she'll beat you with her chancla and no amount of motorcycle club backup will save you." Miguel almost smiles. "So there are conditions."
"That's fair," Zane says seriously.
"Sunday. Six o'clock. Don't be late. Abuela hates tardiness almost as much as she hates people who hurt her family."
"We'll be there," I promise.
Miguel moves to the bed, kisses my forehead like he used to when I was little and scared. "Te quiero, mija."
"Te quiero, Miguel." My voice breaks. "Thank you for coming. For being here. For trying."
"Always." He looks at Santiago one more time. "Adiós, sobrino. Tío will see you soon. I promise you that."
After Miguel leaves, the room feels simultaneously emptier and fuller. Like his presence took up physical space, but his departure left room for me to breathe.
Zane settles carefully on the edge of the bed, still holding Santiago. "You okay?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I got my brother back. But he's going to face consequences for being here. And Ghost is making trouble. And everything is complicated and fragile and terrifying."
"When isn't it?"
"Fair point." I lean against Zane's shoulder, careful not to jostle Santiago. "How did it go? At the club?"
"I kept my Presidency. Seven to two. Ghost left. Tommy's VP now."
"Tommy? Not Joker?"
"Tommy was the right choice. Experience. Loyalty. Someone who'll tell me when I'm being an idiot." Zane pauses. "Ghost won't let this go. He's already talking to other clubs, trying to build alliances against me."
"Including Coyote Fangs."
"Including Coyote Fangs." He looks down at Santiago. "Our son is either going to be the thing that brings peace or the thing that starts a war. No pressure."
"He's two days old. Maybe we give him a few years before assigning that responsibility?"
"Probably smart."
We sit in silence for a moment. Santiago sleeping peacefully between us, completely unaware that his existence has already changed the political landscape of Phoenix's motorcycle clubs.
"Miguel risked a lot to come here," Zane says quietly.
"I know."
"And he's going to risk more at Sunday dinner. Bringing us to meet your grandmother, having me at a family table. That's not nothing."
"Nothing about us has ever been nothing. We're chaos and complications and impossible choices all the way down."
"Yeah." Zane kisses my temple. "But we're here. And we're together. And he's perfect. That has to count for something."
