Page 19 of Knotted their Beauty

Well, it looks like I’m taking a goddamn train ride to god knows where.

Chapter

Six

LENNOX

I despise doing favors for others.

“Sjorn, are you serious?” I groan, glaring at my phone.

The bastard video called me to ensure I couldn’t turn him down. Ugh. My uncle is smart and knows me too well.

“I never joke about money,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s for the kids, Lenny.”

“I hate kids. I’m a real actor, Uncle. I don’t enjoy prancing around a stage for them.”

“Please,” he groans. “I’m not above telling your mother you’re abandoning family in their hour of need.”

…I have no words. This is obviously the gene I inherited for theater. Except, while I work with professional troupes and musicians while I sing in musicals, my uncle puts on kid shows.

“You know that’ll break her heart.” My mother’s entire side of her family are musicians, actors, and incredibly talented. There are a few misfits and criminals thrown in there to boot, but they keep it well hidden from my mother. She’s very good at scaring people, and her family members keep their shit locked down in return so she won’t poison them with desserts and a smile while they pray they live through it.

Due to the many talents of my family, they also have no problems using emotional blackmail on each other.

It’s how she got my uncle to take us in when she left my deadbeat father when I was five. I barely remember him, and I’ve never spent very long in more than one place because of it.

My adult life is no exception.

“Where am I going?”

“San Clemente. It’s a half hour drive, Lenny. You’ll be back in time for your performance tonight. It’s easy,” Uncle Sjorn cajoles.

I hate my life. That’s not true, I love the freedom of being nomadic. One day I’ll be in the mountains of California, and the next I can wake up near the beach. The days typically span a few more between new destinations, but it keeps me from getting bored.

It’s why the troupe is perfect for me. I’m always performing in front of a new audience, and the musical performance changes every three months. That’s how long I need to truly perfect my craft…before I crave something new.

“How the hell will I know the words or what to do?” I ask, already accepting my fate.

“It’s a singalong.” His smirk is smug as fuck and I growl as I promise retribution.

A goddamned singalong? Fuck me, man.

“You suck. Text me the address. Anything I need to wear to work this?”

“Just your usual garb will work, Lenny. Have fun!”

He hangs up before I blow my top, and I groan loudly in frustration. I slept in late and was enjoying a lazy morning when he decided to hijack my day.

Five years ago, I converted a blue Citröen Berlingo into a van. My mother thought I was insane, but I’ve always been a free spirit. I went to college for theater, loved every second of it, and then decided to get work with a traveling group.

It started out small, but we now sell out every venue.

My mother is proud of me, even though she’s still frustrated by the fact that I make really good money yet live in my van. I have a place to sleep, make simple meals, and I can hook up to water and electricity. I also built storage cabinets for my clothing.

I took her out on a camping trip so she could see how comfortable it was, and while she admitted she preferred her home, she said she could see the allure of being able to travel easily.

“Rufus, I suppose we should get ready for the day, what do you think?”