Free Old Flames by Davi Rodriguez

I
     
    T HERE ’ S something to be said for old flames. The memory of the one that got away and the happiness, however brief, that took over while the two of you were together always seemed to end in bitterness somehow. Then again, what did I know? I was just AJ Cooper, a random cop coming up with this shit while standing on Seventh Avenue in the middle of Times Square.
    I let out a small sigh as I stared at the advertisement for my ex-boyfriend’s Broadway show displayed on a billboard attached to a building at the corner of Broadway and 46th Street. I couldn’t help but let bitterness rise up inside of me. The same bitterness that I felt every time I saw an ad for that show. Brad Meyers had left me five months ago when a casting director seemed to be interested in having him audition for a starring role in said Broadway musical. His excuse was that he wanted to focus on bettering his career. I hadn’t heard from him since.
    Not that I really cared to. Or so I liked to think. Truth was, I missed him. He brought a certain peace, calmness, and joy to my life that I had yet to find in anybody else—though I wasn’t exactly looking for dates. No matter how rough my tour at work had been, Brad always managed to make it better when I arrived home, usually by way of a hug and a kiss.
    At the same time, though, I knew he had burned me. We had been together for four years and yet he tossed me away just like that. It seemed that very little effort went into dumping me on his end. He just took me aside after my tour one day and told me that he had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. And that while he still cared about me and he was very sorry for what he was about to do, he was moving out to be on his own so he could focus entirely on his work and talent. He explained the whole thing as if he expected me to understand that he was just up and leaving.
    Did I? Of course not. Who would? Like I said, we had shared four years together. Long enough for a solid bond to form and long enough for most couples to have given some serious discussion to marriage. And yet there I was, being dumped. Go figure. So here I am, still bitter five months after the fact. But could you blame me? “I’m dumping you after four years because I need to work on my talent for this casting director because this show could make my career” is a shit excuse if I ever heard one. Did he even try to make it work in his head before he made the decision to leave?
    Shivering lightly from a cold burst of afternoon winter air, I took a light drag of lukewarm coffee from the Styrofoam cup in my hand and turned my attention to the various men, women, and children all making their way up and down my particular block of Seventh. I needed to focus on the reason I was in Times Square to begin with. My job wasn’t to reminisce about failed relationships, it was to protect and serve the people of New York.
    Starting to walk amongst the crowd, I began to divide my attention between listening to the police radio at my left ear and scanning the crowd for pickpockets or other scumbags trying to prey on innocent people in the streets. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two other officers standing in front of the glass window making up part of the storefront of a Sunglasses Hut. Lifting my head in greeting, I gave them a brief, casual salute.
    “Hey, Sarge!” One of them called out to me in acknowledgment, his nameplate identifying him as “A. Monteiro.” Alex Monteiro, one of Jess Landon’s kids out of the Tenth Precinct. He was covering for one of my guys who was out sick with the flu.
    I was just about to take another sip of my coffee when I felt something ice cold hit the top of my back rather hard, just under my neck, and break into pieces, a few of which lodged into my neckline. The sudden impact startled me into dropping my coffee and caused me to grunt loudly and quickly turn around to see what had happened.
    “Sarge?” The other officer called out in alarm as