48 Hours in Hollowood: A Mm+ Shifter Romance

48 Hours in Hollowood

Hollowood Falls Book 1

Will Forrest

HARDCASTLE BOOKS

Copyright

Copyright © 2023 by Will Forrest

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, generative AI, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact info@hardcastlebooks.com

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. No generative AI technology was used in the production of this book, its contents, cover, or layout

ISBN: 978-1-990115-84-4

Book Cover & Layout by Hardcastle Books

Images licensed by DepositPhotos.com

First edition 2023

Chapters

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

HOLLOWOOD FALLS – THE SERIES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY WILL FORREST

48 Hours in Hollowood

1

I’m sitting on the back deck daydreaming about my husband’s ass when everything goes to hell. Just when I’ve figured out how to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy? We’re living the American Dream: Gay All Day edition, in a nice midcentury bungalow on a treed street in a great neighborhood, with completely normal neighbours who bring us banana bread and watch our cat when we go out of town. Ordinary, maybe even boring, and it’s a little slice of heaven.

All thanks to Graeme, who not only healed my mangled heart but makes our backyard a paradise. Even in the heat of summer, it’s shady and green, and he’s planned it so there’s always something blooming, something bright and happy to see first thing in the morning.

We get tons of birds too. Finches and jays and more things I can’t name. Even a few white-capped crows, like the ones where I grew up and that I’ve never seen anywhere else until a trio moved into that dead tree on Mr Richardson’s lot. He’s been fighting with the city for years about that rotten old thing. One day a storm is going to bring it down, right on top of him.

But there’s no talking to some people. Sometimes listening is the hardest thing you can do. I could write a book about the things I haven’t said because certain people weren’t ready to hear them. Not today, though. Today is perfect.

Or it will be once Graeme gets home. He loves living here, so close to that little shopping district, where they still have a green grocer and a butcher shop like they did where he grew up in Anstruther, a painfully quaint village on the east coast of Scotland. He’ll go down nearly every day like his mum might have, to nose about as he says. Sometimes he brings me flowers, which made me feel really weird the first time and is now just a thing he does. Just a man in love with his husband.

It’s so good to be able to say that, to have a husband, to have this much. To never have to hide our love. We don’t fly any rainbow flags on our lawn, but everyone knows who we are and no one gives a shit. Like I said: a slice of heaven.

Even with the clouds rolling in, the sky to the west darkening before my eyes. No big deal, and the garden could probably do with some rain now that the hot weather is here. Far away thunder rolls, a low, treacherous murmur that makes my hair stand on end. A sudden gust of wind tears through the treetops, ripping off leaves and snatching at my soul because all of a sudden here it comes: the fear.

White hot, all-consuming, my heart hammering at my ribcage, my mouth too dry to scream. Another growl of thunder and I’m on my feet, running blind, running for my life, and I don’t know why. I hit the garden gate, and I mean hit, run into it full speed, the pain spiking through me and waking me from my panic. I haven’t felt like this in years. Not since leaving Hollowood. Feeling like this, hating these feelings, is exactly why I left.

My lights, Evan, what’s happened?

Graeme. My hero, my husband, coming up the walk with a grocery tote and a bunch of flowers and my heart. Holding my gaze, his gorgeous flint-gray eyes full of worry, he sets down the bag of groceries to key the code into the gate lock. He knows I get like this. It hasn’t happened in a while, but he knows just what to do, how to save me.

I let go of the gate so he can open it and then he’s holding me and God, it feels so good. He’s my home and he’s here and I hate looking weak but he knows me, he saves me, he’s mine.

Love, what’s wrong? Is it a panic attack? Come in the house, then, he says when I nod. Come on, let go of me, we’ll get in quicker. He hooks the shopping bag over his arm holding the flowers then takes my hand and leads me back inside.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I rasp as he slides the patio door shut.

Not to worry, love. Sit and I’ll fetch you a drink.

He leaves me on the couch, where I watch the wind silently beat the hell out of the trees through the patio doors. Graeme comes back with a glass of water, stepping over the back of the low couch to settle beside me.

Oh look, he says, pointing at the pair of crows as they touch down on the deck. Spicks and Specs must be worried about you. He’s convinced the pied crows know us, and named the mating pair after a show we bonded over. A show no one I knew had seen until I met Graeme, which is why we kept on talking the night we met as our friends left the bar one by one, until we were the only two left at the birthday party of someone we haven’t seen since.

The crows on the patio sure look like they’re here for a reason as they hop towards the door. Spicks, the bigger one, tilts its head, blinking at us through the glass. And there it is again, that fear, but I’m not giving in, not letting it rule me. I’m stronger than the fear, stronger than my past, my pain. I’m not afraid.

Jesus, Evan! Graeme jumps up from the couch, his jeans soaking wet, broken glass on the floor. The other half of the glass is still in my shaking hand, and I drop it on the carpet. I’m calling the paramedics, Graeme murmurs, backing towards the kitchen counter where he left his phone.

I’m not sick, I say, my throat so dry it comes out like an angry bark.

Well, something the fuck is going on, he bites back, his hands on his hips. Can I call Doctor Vanian?

My therapist, and the only other person who can deal with me when I get like this. I nod and Graeme grabs his phone and disappears down the hall. I turn around and there are more crows. Half a dozen, more, and as I’m trying to count them another one lands. Then another. A murder. A sign.

I know what’s wrong. It’s not a panic attack. Not anxiety or PTSD or a manic episode or anything that Vanian or even Graeme understands.

It’s Hollowood.

It wants me back.

2

I talk through my shit with Doctor V. At least the parts I can tell her. She doesn’t know the truth about Hollowood Falls, only that my hometown messed me up pretty badly, broke my trust a hundred ways and made it hard for me to let my guard down around anyone. When I met Graeme, he had to