Hector Perez made his way slowly down the street, limping slightly as he went. Some glanced at him and quickly averted their eyes, others stared, still others didn’t notice him at all.

Sometimes, he wanted to be noticed, to be recognized for everything he’d been through.

Other times, he wanted to blend in and disappear into the crowd without a second thought.

Today, on his first outing in months, he wished he could disappear.

Anyone looking at him wouldn’t know he had prosthetic legs. Since he was wearing long pants, they’d likely assume he was disabled in some way, or injured. He was, but it wasn’t his legs that were the problem; it was his heart and his head.

He turned a corner and a woman strode by, giving him the once-over. She smiled as she took in his toned arms and muscular chest, easily visible through his fitted t-shirt. Her appreciation flitted to surprise as she noticed how he walked. She frowned in confusion and walked away.

He wore sunglasses, not to shield his eyes from the sun, but to shield his expressions from those he passed, from those just like her who didn’t know how to approach him or speak to him. He was just a goddamn person, no matter how fucked up he was. Why was that so hard for people to see?

As he approached the Royal Court, a local pub close to the MARC, he wondered if he should have smiled at her, to help put her more at ease. He shook his head free of that thought. It’d been a long time since he smiled, and he’d forgotten how to do it. He didn’t have a normal smile anymore, it was wonky. His laugh wasn’t much better.

He thumbed the talisman in his pocket: a small pink and white seashell. For some reason, it gave him strength as he opened the pub’s door.

He shifted his sunglasses to rest in his hair, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimmer light in the room. It was everything you imagined a European pub – one that was mostly local and not as touristy – to be. The bar and furniture were carved from a dark wood, finished with a gloss that had faded over the years leaving scuff marks and gashes visible. The booths featured seats in a dark red, many of them with visible rips or tears. Though the lighting was low, the bar was lit more brightly, shelves of liquor displayed against a slightly smudged mirror. It was late in the afternoon, yet business was bustling. Easy conversation and laughter surrounded him.

The entire pub was worn down, but not worn out, and welcoming.

He loved it instantly.

He looked around, searching for Lorenzo.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

Hector turned towards the voice – a waitress, based on the black half-apron she wore around her wide hips. She wasn’t looking at him, and was focused instead on pulling some menus from behind a hostess stand.

“Pardon?”

She glanced up, and her dark eyes captivated him. Even behind the glasses she wore, her eyes shone like beacons. She was almost as tall as him, with curves that were semi-hidden under a baggy cardigan. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head, accentuating her round face. The only spot of color she wore was a pair of dangling earrings in pale blue and silver, which seemed to enhance her tanned skin.

She was beautiful, though she tried very hard to hide it.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?” she asked again.

“Yeah. Yes. Um, Captain–I mean Prince Lorenzo.”

She thumbed her hand behind her. “Captain’s not here yet, but we keep a booth reserved for him in the back. Does the booth work for you? Or would you prefer a table?”

His brows drew together. Had she noticed his disability, and that navigating a booth might be difficult? “Why might I prefer a table?”

She picked up some menus and hugged them to her chest – a nice-sized chest, he noticed.

“The booths are a pretty tight fit, and they’ve been difficult for people like you to manage.”

He sucked in a breath. “People like me?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean any offense. You’re just, um, really big.” Her eyes fell to his chest and she blushed, a tinge of pink infusing her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Really. It’s hard even for the prince to get in the booth, and you seem even, um, broader than him.” Her cheeks shifted from a mild pink to a bright red.

At that, he very nearly smiled his wonky smile. A small sense of relief filled him to learn that she was just awkward. Not only that, she was the fucking adorable kind of awkward.

“I mean, I don’t know why the prince likes the booth, just that he does, and even some of the other veterans who visit him here have similar issues with the seating, particularly the disabled ones.”

His face shut down. “You noticed my disability?”

Her fingers toyed with the frayed edges of the menus she held. “Um, no. I hadn’t actually. I was just making a comment about how awful the booths are to sit in.”

Shit. He’d outed himself without meaning to.

Her brows furrowed. “I didn’t notice any disability. I’m sorry.”

“Usually, that’s the first thing people notice.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Perhaps because he’d been defined by his disability for so long, he wasn’t sure how to act when it wasn’t the main topic of discussion.

Her face fell and he felt like an ass for making her feel bad. “I didn’t. I’m sorry. I can just be so clueless sometimes. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I mean, when you walked in I just saw your chest, which is really broad, like really, really broad. And then I saw your hips, and decided I should stop looking down, so then I started looking up, and then I saw your lips and your eyes and…shit!”

She squeaked – actually squeaked – and he found it fucking cute.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and he wasn’t sure she took a breath for several long seconds. Her hand fell away. “I’m just, um, oh, I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. And hide. Hiding’s good. Running away, also an option.”

It finally dawned on him. She was nervous around him, and not because he was disabled or Hispanic, but because she was attracted to him.

It may have been a while since he’d been on the dating scene, but he remembered how women had shown interest in him. Some came on strong and bold, some gave him furtive glances but never approached. Some – like her – might speak, but end up saying things that were embarrassing yet meant well.

Her fumbled words did more for his self-confidence that most anything else had the last few months. “It’s all right, don’t worry about it. I’m flattered, really. And I’m certainly not offended you didn’t notice my disability first.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He heard a bottle thump on the bar and they both looked over. Hector saw a beefy man watching her and paying him little attention. She hugged the menus closer to her.

Hector gave him a once over and did not get a good vibe from him – it was possessive to an extreme, controlling.

Hector instantly hated him.

She turned quickly back to Hector. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. You won’t, um, mention to anyone I made an idiot of myself, will you?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and ignored her question. “Who is that guy?”

Her body drooped in resignation, and her voice was wooden when she spoke. “He’s my manager. Did you want to speak to him about what I said?”

“Fuck, no.”

She jerked back and her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“No. Though I do want to speak to him about why his employee is afraid of him.”

She sucked in a breath. “I’m not – We’re not – It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Millie,” the jerk behind the bar yelled.

She jerked again. “Sorry, I’ve got to get back to work. Feel free to take the booth, or there’s an empty table over there, too. Captain won’t mind if you take a table, really.” She hurried over to the bar, and Hector noticed her ass may have been on the flat side, but it was still sexy as hell, especially in the jeans she wore.

He kept an eye on her as he ambled over to the booth. The asshole manager was talking to her, and the more he talked, the more she shrunk into herself. He could see it with his own fucking eyes and he hated it. No one deserved to be treated like shit. He watched her until she walked away balancing a tray laden with drinks and the menus tucked under her arm.

How many times had he had been demeaned because of his disability? Because of his heritage? Because of some dumbass reason someone made up? It didn’t matter that he was a veteran, that he’d made this country his home. People still thought he wasn’t worth much.

With some difficultly, he managed to slide into the booth. The booths were uncomfortably small; even if he’d had two fully working legs, he still would have had difficulty sitting down.

He saw her walking his way and noticed the manager kept an eye on her, too.

“Sorry, again.”

“Stop apologizing. I didn’t take offense, and you didn’t say anything hurtful.” Before his injury, he’d never paid much attention to the girls like her. He’d never known that awkward could be endearing.

He knew now.

She paused a beat, then nodded, seeming to accept him at his word. “Okay. So, what can I get you? We’ve got some two for one happy hour specials.”

Alcohol would mess with his meds, so he went for something simple. “Just coffee.”

“Cream and sugar?”

He shook his head. “Black. And a menu.”

“Dinner menu or happy hour menu?”

“Dessert menu.”

Her lips tipped up and his body locked. Just a half-smile lit up her face. He wondered what she’d look like if she smiled flat out; the effect would probably blind him.

“We don’t have a dessert menu, per se. We have some cakes and things from the bakery down the road.”

Had he passed it on the way the pub? “I don’t recall a bakery nearby.”

“Yeah, it’s just around the corner. Real famous. We’ve got pastries, pies, chocolate cake, cheesecake, tartes–”

“Tarte’s fine. Whatever kind you’ve got.”

She scribbled something on her order pad. “Will do. We’re short-staffed so it’ll take a few minutes, but I’ll be back.”

As she turned to leave, he grasped her wrist. Her skin was so soft. “Just a second. Your name’s Millie?”

She looked down at his hand and he let go. She hugged her serving tray to her chest. “It’s a nickname,” she muttered.

“What’s your real name?”

“I’ll get your order.”

His voice was steady and soft. “What’s your name?”

“Amelia.”

She had a gorgeous name like Amelia yet went by Millie? There was nothing wrong with the name Millie, but it was almost like she was hiding behind her name, just like she was trying to hide her beauty behind baggy clothes.

“Amelia, I’m Hector Perez.” He held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

She looked dumbfounded at his hand for a moment, then shook it. As soon as their skin touched again, he felt a warmth spread through him. It was the kind of warmth you had after a long time of feeling cold.

He hadn’t realized he’d been cold.

She slipped her hand out of his. “Good to meet you, too. Um, any friend of the Captain’s is welcome here. I’ll get your order in.”

He watched her walk away again and barely noticed that Lorenzo had entered and was walking towards him, waving to a few people as he did. Clearly, he was a regular here.

“Captain.” Hector started to slide out.

Lorenzo held up his hand. “Please don’t get up. I know these booths are a bitch.” He squeezed into the other side.

“Thanks for meeting me. I know it’s a crazy time for you.”

“Strike’s been averted, and we managed to get a raise for union members which should help prevent a future strike, too. There are new union leaders, though it will take time for everything there to settle down. My girls are safe. Alex is safe, as are all my family. I forgave my parents and brother, and I’m working on forgetting what they did to me. I’m healing.” He pointed to his arm, where Hector knew a bullet had struck him. “Things are finally calming down, so it’s not that crazy. Besides, I asked you out for a beer. I always keep my promises.”

That he did. “Why’d you choose this place? You a regular?”

Lorenzo nodded. “It’s still mostly locals, so it’s a good place to get the pulse of the people and the city. Some guidebook printed that I or my family stop by so you’ll find tourists in here, especially during the summer.”

“That asshole behind the bar own it?”

Lorenzo quirked an eyebrow and his lips twitched. “Yes, he does own it. For now, anyway.”

“For now?”

“Evening, um, Captain,” Millie said and curtsied briefly.

“Millie, I told you to forget protocol.”

Without looking at Hector, she transferred a mug of coffee and a plate with a mini fruit tart to the table in front of Hector, and gave a furtive glance to the bar. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I think you’re afraid of more than that,” Hector muttered.

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “I understand, Millie.”

She nodded. “Anything for you, Captain?”

“Same as him. Thanks, Millie.”

She scribbled on her pad and turned, still not looking at Hector. “Sure thing. Be right back.”

Hector watched her again. “So, what’s up with the asshole?”

“I like this.”

He shifted his eyes to Lorenzo. “Like what?”

“It really does my heart good to see it.”

“See what?”

“You with Millie.

His body tensed, and his voice came out as a growl. “Captain.”

“It’s about time, too.”

“Captain.”

Lorenzo threw his head back and laughed. “Man, you don’t fucking realize how great this is?”

“What’s great? You fabricating a relationship between me and a woman I met ten minutes ago?”

Lorenzo shook his head. “No, man. Seeing you in the land of the living.”

He sucked in a breath. “Low.”

Lorenzo put both of his hands up in surrender. “I won’t say anything else, except that I’m really fucking happy about it. I missed you, my friend.”

He let out a breath. “I missed you, too, Low.”

Millie brought out a tart and coffee for Lorenzo and quickly dashed away. The buzz in the room had grown and Hector noticed the pub was now packed. Glancing around, he noticed only Millie working the floor, though there were three behind the bar. One should have been redeployed to the floor to help her.

“Don’t even try it.”

Hector shifted his thoughts and gaze back to Lorenzo. “Try what?”

“Helping Millie.”

“Low.”

“The asshole won’t listen. I’ve tried talking to him before, since this is a regular occurrence with his waitresses. Unfortunately, he has some anti-monarchist tendencies so he doesn’t give a shit what I say.”

Hector’s eyes narrowed. “He act on those tendencies?”

Lorenzo gestured with his head towards the door, where his protection agent stood guard. “Tried once. Had my agent with me, plus I can also kick his ass. Hasn’t tried since. He knows I bring business here, so he keeps his mouth shut.”

“How can you support an asshole like that?”

Lorenzo gave him a wicked grin and leaned over the table. “I’m not,” he whispered, then leaned back. “The old owners – sweetest couple you’d ever meet – retired and sold the place. He’s who ended up buying it, though I think he must’ve laid it on pretty thick to convince them to sell it to him.”

“So, why don’t you think he’ll last?”

“I’ve kept an ear to the ground, and found out he hasn’t been up to date on all his licenses. Once his liquor license gets pulled, with the way he manages this place, he won’t be able to keep running it. He’ll likely sell.”

Hector’s eyes flicked to Amelia and watched as she dropped off a tray of empties and carried a fresh tray of drinks out. If this place shut down, she’d be out of a job. “Why are you so involved in this? You’re a prince, for God’s sake.”

“I may be a prince, but I’m not an idiot. I’m always looking for new business ventures. I’ve thought the pub would make a good purchase, and it’d make a good job placement for some of our veterans.”

“Some of the people in the MARC are alcoholics and/or drug addicts.”

“But not everyone is. You aren’t.”

Hector’s heart skipped a beat. “You want me to work here?”

Lorenzo took a sip of coffee, then sat back. “I used to, but now I’m thinking that’s not such a good idea anymore.”

His stomach lurched, as though someone had just punched it. Maybe Lorenzo didn’t think he was recovered enough to work full-time, or even part-time. “You don’t?”

“No. I think you should buy the place and run it.”

His mouth fell open. “Are you nuts?”

“Only sometimes, but not about this.”

“I can’t afford to buy this place. I can barely afford to buy this coffee. Not to mention, it’s not for sale. Not to mention, even if it was, it needs some serious upgrades.” He pointed to the well-worn booth covering behind him as an example.

“That’s why I’ll be a silent partner. I’ll invest in it, help pay for it and the upgrades, which I agree it needs. Once you turn a profit, you buy me out and then you’ll own it free and clear.”

“You’re serious.”

“You’d better fucking believe it.”

“But I can’t–”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Captain.”

Lorenzo leaned forward. “No more of this ‘can’t’ bullshit. You can. You don’t want to own a pub, fine. But I know you can fucking do it.”

Hector’s heart was racing. A future. Lorenzo was handing him a future. Again.

He never thought he’d get a second chance at life. For so long, he’d wished that he’d died on the floor of that jungle – the same feelings Lorenzo had admitted he’d had as well. If Hector had died, there would have been no pain, no fake legs.

For so long, to stop feeling the pain, he’d felt nothing. It had only been recently, after he came to the MARC, that he started to breathe again, and feel again.

He looked down at his hands. He’d unknowingly pulled the shell from his pocket, and his fingers had been toying with it. He felt the ridges along the top, and the smooth, sea-worn inside.

Lorenzo’s little girl had picked it for him. A little spot of bright in a dark life. If Lorenzo hadn’t made it back, he wouldn’t have had Liliana. He never would have met his Lily. If Hector hadn’t come back, what might he have missed?

He looked across the pub again, and saw Amelia. She greeted someone as they entered, then leaned over to wipe down a table. Her earrings caught the brief sunlight of the opened entrance, causing small beams of light to dance in the air.

Another spot of bright in the dark.

He still wasn’t sure he could do this, wasn’t sure he was up to it. Lorenzo believed in him, though, and Lorenzo wouldn’t let him fail.

Neither would he fail Lorenzo.

“All right.”

“All right what?”

“I’ll do it. I want to try.”

Lorenzo’s lips split in a wide smile. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I’ll get some paperwork together.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the asshole to put the place on sale first?”

Lorenzo waved a hand. “That’ll take a couple weeks, at most. He’s getting his notice about the liquor license in the next few days.”

“What about everyone who works here?”

“We’ll transition over everyone who wants to stay. We can give them paid time off while the place is being renovated, and even provide a bonus for those who stay. It shouldn’t take long to update everything if we plan well – a few days, maybe a week at most – and since the staff is small, those wouldn’t be significant costs.”

“Sounds easy, though I know it won’t be.”

“Definitely not. Bonus, though: asshole is more likely to sell to you than me, so that should work in our favor. He’d try to gouge me on price, but he’s not likely to do that to you.”

“Even though I’m sitting here with you? He probably realizes we’re friends.”

“Even then. He knows I bring veterans from the MARC here, so he wouldn’t think anything of it.” Lorenzo held out his hand. “Ready to be a partner?”

Hector took his hand and shook it. “Definitely.”

A heavy weight seemed lifted from his shoulders. He’d have a lot of work to do in the months ahead, but he could do it. He would do it.

“Thanks, Captain.”

“No problem.”

Hector held tight to his hand. “No, Captain. Thanks. For everything.”

Lorenzo sucked in a breath.

“Thanks for saving my life in the jungle, for bringing me to the MARC and saving it again. For doing this.”

“Perez.”

“Thanks, Low.”

Lorenzo took a shuddering breath. “You’re welcome.”

Hector nodded once, then let go.

“We should give the place a new name, unless there’s a reason to keep this one.”

“Don’t think there’s any historical reason for it. I think it’s just stayed the same through various owners. What would you change it to?”

He glanced around again, then down at the piece of beauty in his hands. The bar needed a fresh start, just like he did. He wanted to feel happy every time thought about the place, and wanted others to as well. There was one thing that made him surprisingly happy these days: his lucky talisman. “The Seashell. We should name it the Seashell.”

Lorenzo smiled. “I like it.”

Hector smiled his wonky smile back. “So do I.”

Time to look forward.