But for now I was too concerned with getting ahold of Maggie or Jimmy Boy to ask. “Let me try my brother.” I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and dialed the number for the emergency phone he’d promised to keep on him at all times. It rang once, twice, three times. Nothing. After the fifth ring, a prerecorded voice told me the caller I was trying to reach was unavailable. I hung up and tried the number again. When I got the same message, I set the phone down and looked at Tommy.

“Something’s not right. Jimmy would’ve answered the phone if he could, and Maggie’s never far from the trailer. There’s no good reason we can’t get ahold of them.”

Tommy grunted. “Then I’m guessing there’s a pretty bad reason why not.”

“This has to have something to do with Judd,” I said. I was starting to panic, but I had to keep my head straight if I was going to figure out what to do next. “I have to go back to help them.”

“And what do you think that’ll accomplish? You just strolling back into the Village on your own.”

“I’ll figure something out on the way, but I’m not just going to sit here and do nothing,” I said, getting to my feet. Spencer stared up at me, still in her chair at the table.

“I’m not suggesting you do nothing, but you can’t go alone either. I’ll have to come with you. We can get there faster in my car than you can on a bus anyway.”

I blinked at him. Why would he agree to go back to the Village, especially now that there was nothing to keep Pop from finishing the job he’d sent Judd up here to do?

“It’s my family. You may have been close with Maggie twenty years ago, but that’s a pretty tenuous reason to get yourself killed now.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t understand yet, but we don’t have time to waste explaining them. Anyway, the Village is probably the safest place for me right now. Michael may be bold enough to send his son here to kill me, but he’s not going to risk exposing the whole clan by having me murdered on his doorstep. Keep the dirt far away from home. Rule number one.”

He had a point. No matter how angry Pop was with Tommy, he was still a reasonable man, and he wasn’t going to risk everything he had in the name of revenge. At least, not unless it was hundreds of miles from home.

“Fine then. We’ll go together. When can you be ready to go?”

“I’m ready now,” he said.

“Give me ten minutes,” Spencer said, pushing back her chair and closing the lid on the first aid kit. “I just need to grab a few things.”

Tommy and I both stared at her. “Spence, you can’t come,” I said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re staying here,” Tommy said.

Spencer’s gaze swiveled from me to him and back. “If you two think I’m going to sit at home and wait to find out whether you’re alive or dead, then you’re crazy.”

“It’s not safe,” I said, trying to make her understand. “I love you too much to put you in danger again. You’ve been through enough.”

“Exactly! I’ve already been kidnapped and held at gunpoint. I even had the pleasure of bandaging my boyfriend’s gunshot wound. And you think I’m better off staying here alone?”

The corner of my mouth turned up. “Boyfriend?”

“That’s what you got from that?” She tried to sound annoyed, but there was a slight twitch in her lips, too.

“I think she’s right, Tommy,” I said, but my eyes never left hers. “She’s safer with us, and more than that, she deserves to go. This involves her just as much as it does either one of us.”

Tommy growled in frustration and shoved a hand through his hair again. “Shay, this isn’t—”

“What did you call him?” Spencer narrowed her eyes at her father.

I winced, though this time it had nothing to do with my arm. Funny how the first lie I told her would be the last I’d come clean about. “He called me Shay.”

The narrowed eyes turned on me. “What?”

“My name isn’t Shane Casey.” I fought the urge to drop my head in a display of the shame I felt. “It’s Shay. Reilly.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “I’ll give you two a minute, but if we’re going, we need to go soon.” He left us alone in the kitchen for a second time, but neither of us noticed much.

“Shay Reilly,” she repeated after he’d gone. She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “I’m Spencer Costello,” she said, offering her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I took her hand in mine and couldn’t stop myself from pulling her into my arms and crushing her against my chest. I kissed her, not caring if she’d pull away or punch me or jam her knee into my groin. It was worth the risk. And it was a hundred times more worth it when she kissed me back, even if hesitantly.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I said against her mouth.

Spencer leaned back to look me in the eye. “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, you know.”

“I know.”

“I mean, you saved my life and my dad’s, and that’s not nothing. But really, I don’t even know who you are.”

“I know,” I said again and kissed the tip of her nose. “But we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other on the way to Louisiana.”

We couldn’t have finished this book without the love and support of our families, so the first very big thank you goes to Max Ernst, Darleen Zimmerman, David Pincus, Cecile Bruhn, and Steve, James, Rhys, Alisha, and Violet Bruhn. We love you all so much!

 For being with us from the very beginning (and offering some very helpful feedback on an earlier draft) we’d like to thank Kristyn DiDominick, Angelo Boccia Cedeño, and Dustin Moore. Thanks to Adam Bricker for inspiring one of the first lines ever written in The Long Game, and for always being a character in his own right. For always being supportive of our writing and just being inspirational, strong women, thanks to Amie Knauer, Meghan Saweikis, and Fiona Shirk. For being super supportive while also offering that little kick in the ass a writer sometimes needs to stay focused (and for making the “day job” just as much fun as time off), thanks to Amy Yoder McGloughlin and Michael Brix.

We absolutely have to thank Agent Pooja Menon of Kimberley Cameron and Associates who gave us so much encouragement, advice, and support along the way, all while being one of the coolest agents in the business. To Kristen and Jolene at Pen & Muses, the friendliest and most helpful publicists we could have asked for, and Rebecca A. Weston, the most thorough copy editor. To all the wonderful, talented, amazing, and hilarious ladies in the WrAHM society--we never would have been able to do this without you. Finding this group has been nothing short of miraculous for us. Thank you to Laurelin Page, Melanie Harlow, Emma Hart, Robin Lucas, Delancey Stewart, and Elizabeth Otto in particular, for going above and beyond in the help and encouragement department and playing a huge role in bringing this book to life. And an extra big thank you to Leigh Ann who had the courage to lead the way and whose talent, intelligence, and hard-work inspired us to make a go at it ourselves. Thanks to New Adult Authors Unite, and the lovely ladies who run it, our Pen Monkeys, and Dawn Pendleton for starting a great fall promo group. To Team Fynn, our biggest, loudest, and best cheerleaders—we love you guys! Thanks to everyone who follows us on Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr for all their support. A special thanks to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis for producing the soundtrack to our journey. We’re happy to be I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T chasing dreams.

Finally, our sincerest thanks to anyone reading this book—a writer is nothing without a reader, and we’re eternally grateful to you for giving us a reason to do what we do.

Signed (if you’ve gotten this far),

 Chelle Bruhn & Katherine Ernst, the writers behind J.L. Fynn

J.L. Fynn is the public face of the writing collaboration between Katherine Ernst and Chelle Bruhn. Katherine and Chelle have been writing together since they were 14-years-old and are happy to be able to team up professionally after all these years. They both live outside of Philadelphia, PA and look forward to years of fruitful work together.