I still don’t like flying, I affirm on the flight to New York City. I just don’t like being cooped up with too much crazy and on an airplane, there’s always too much crazy. Thank fuck me, Brewer, and Campy at least got seats in the same row, meaning we’re plastered against each other, instead of some smelly dude.

We know each other well enough to chat for a bit, and then leave each other the fuck alone. I listen to my music, Campy is on his phone, as usual, playing some game, and Brewer is reading a book I can’t even pronounce the title of. Something about biochemistry? No fucking clue why he wants to read something like that, but if that’s what he likes, it’s fine with me.

Tank, Bear, and Pixie are a few rows behind us, also sitting together. I had to smile a little when I looked back a few minutes ago, because the sight of the cute, innocent-looking Pixie between grumpy, hairy Tank and silver fox Bear was...interesting. Not that Tank has been giving him a hard time or anything. No, he’s been nothing but kind to the shy little imp. He reserves all his grumpiness for Brewer, it seems.  This, of course, makes the idea I had for a shoot with the two of them even more epic—and Bear absolutely fucking loved it. Now, all I have to do is convince those two of cooperating. To say that’s a challenge is the fucking understatement of the year.

I saw Bear make an effort at engaging Pixie in a conversation, so that took some of my worries away about him feeling left out. I was surprised Bear even wanted to bring him, but he insisted Pixie was part of the core group now. So is Heart, but apparently, he had other obligations and couldn’t make this trip. I wonder what he had that was more important than a free trip to New York.

Just like I wonder what was more important to Troy than joining me. Rationally, I know that it was too much, too soon for him. He’s a wounded soul, my banana boy, too hurt by the people who left him in the past to dare to give himself to someone else. I get it, but fuck, it hurts.

This is a proud moment for me, whether we win or not, and I wanted him with me. I wanted to share this with him as one of the hopefully many beautiful moments we’ll get to share together. I guess I’ll need even more patience to wait until he’s ready. If he’ll ever be. At what point do I decide I can’t wait anymore for him to start trusting himself, trusting me and us? I don’t know, but even the thought makes it hard to breathe. I never thought I’d be in this position, but the idea of spending life without Troy is so painful, it physically hurts. I guess that’s why they call it a broken heart.

After a meal has been served, I doze off with my music relaxing me, until Campy gently shakes me awake. “Look,” he says, pointing out the window. The plane tilts to turn, and Manhattan displays itself in all its glory. It’s a bright sunny, though supposedly chilly day in the city, and the sun reflects off the iconic buildings I can easily identify. It’s not my first time here, but every time, this city takes my breath away just a little. Campy told us it was his first time in New York, so we had to promise him we’d do at least some sightseeing.

“It’s stunning, even from the sky,” Brewer says, leaning over me and Campy to catch a glimpse.

We join Bear, Pixie, and Tank as we make our way to the luggage carousels. We catch a few curious looks, but the various subtle disguises we’re wearing so far seem to do their trick. Brewer and Campy are wearing baseball caps, and I’m clean shaven—a true rarity, and one Troy would undoubtedly get on my ass about—and wearing my hair up in a man bun. It’s not my best look, but it does make me look completely different. Pixie’s hair is unstyled, which interestingly enough completely changes his appearance. Bear is pretty much himself, but since he’s rarely on camera, people won’t recognize him unless they’re die-hard fans.

The only one who can’t help but stand out is Tank. His body is just too damn tall and broad to miss, especially with that dark look he’s always sporting and the tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. The guy’s too intimidating to pull off a disguise, but on the plus side, usually too intimidating to approach, even for fans.

Luckily, our suitcases arrive quickly and a driver is waiting for us with a discreet sign. Bear learned through trial and error that putting “Ballsy Boys” on a sign wasn’t the smartest idea in a big city like New York, and neither was using our porn names. We have quite the fan base, both amongst gay men and women, and after two incidents where we were pretty much run over, Bear told us to use fake names for the trip as much as we can. Along with the aforementioned disguises.

Our luggage is quickly loaded into a small shuttle bus, and we crawl inside and find a spot. I let Campy sit near the window, so he can look out the window on our shuttle from JFK to our midtown hotel.

As soon as we start driving, I check my phone for messages. Nothing. I sigh. Had I really expected anything else?

Brewer gently bumps my shoulder with his own. “Nothing from your man?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not even sure if he’s still my man at this point, to be honest.”

Everyone grows quiet, and what should be intimidating, opening up like this, feels safe instead. These are the men who know me better than anyone else. Like brothers, if not for the fact that I’ve fucked every single one of them, with the exception of Bear.

“Is it the porn thing?” Campy asks, turning away from the stunning view outside toward me.

“No. Surprisingly, that has never been an issue for him. It’s the relationship in general thing. He’s been hurt in the past, and it’s hard for him to commit. Me asking him to join me for this was too much, I guess.”

Brewer’s hand finds my shoulder, and he squeezes. “Maybe all he needs is time.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I hear the disbelief in my own voice.

“Don’t give up on him,” Brewer urges me. “Sometimes people have been told a certain message so many times that they’ve internalized it to the point where it has become their truth. It takes a repetition of a different message to break through that old conviction. Keep telling him and showing him you love him until he starts believing it.”

The advice is so out of character for happy-go-lucky Brewer that I blink a few times. It’s spot on, though, because it’s exactly what happened with Troy. He’s been left so many times that his conviction is I will leave him, too, at some point. I need to keep showing him I won’t. No matter how long it takes, I can’t give up. He loves me—he just can’t admit it yet.

I try to shake off the mood I’m in as we slowly make our way to our hotel, which is smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, a block or two away from Times Square. The actual ceremony tomorrow is at another hotel, but was already sold out when Bear decided all of us would go, so we’re staying a few blocks away. Brewer’s nose is pretty much plastered to the window as Campy and I try to point out landmarks to him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, and his enthusiasm definitely improves my mood.

Check in is smooth, and then Bear tells us we’re off till the next morning, when we’re expected at breakfast at eight sharp. “And guys, no excessive drinking tonight. It’s a work day tomorrow, and I need you looking bright and sharp.”

We all nod in agreement, as he told us this beforehand. A trip like this sounds like way more fun than it actually is. As I said before, being a porn star is damn hard work for the most part.

“Who’s rooming with who?” Campy asks.

Huh. I never even thought of this. There’s six of us and three rooms.

“I’m not rooming with him,” Tank and Brewer say almost simultaneously, pointing at each other.

Bear lets out an exasperated sigh. “The two of you need to grow the fuck up. This is getting really old.”

“I’ll room with Tank,” I offer to keep the peace. I don’t mind, and honestly, I kinda prefer him over Campy and Brewer. Brewer is a total flirt, and we’ve fooled around on more than one occasion. Campy and I have done dozens of shoots together, and we’re all too familiar with each other. No matter what the current situation with Troy is, I’m not fucking it up by getting too close with any of the boys. Tank is safe, at least for me.

“I’ll take Brewer,” Campy quickly says.

That leaves Pixie and Bear, and oh, fuck, I should have realized it would be awkward as fuck for the little imp to room with the boss. Why didn’t I offer to room with Bear instead? That would have been fine with me.

Bear shuffles his feet, obviously acutely uncomfortable with the whole situation. No wonder; he just got maneuvered into sharing a room with someone he’d probably rather keep a distance from, considering how he’s a new employee and all that.

“I can…” I start, but Pixie quickly cuts me off.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Okay, then. I don’t know how to interpret the blush that’s staining his cheeks, but I’m gonna go with major awkward. Bear gives Pixie a look as if the kid has sprouted angel wings all of a sudden, then clears his throat.

“That’s settled then. I’ll see you all tomorrow at eight.”