CHAPTER 39
Dee
It took a year, a whole year, for the Ballybeg Golf Academy to become a reality.
Jax’s vision of a small, private training ground had turned into something bigger than any of us could have imagined. It wasn’t merely a golf academy—it was a place where pros came to train in peace, where kids from the village got lessons for free, and where people from all over came to play in the annual charity event that I knew would become a Ballybeg tradition.
I’d like to say I helped, but the truth was, this was Jax’s baby.
He handled the sponsors and the designs and even hired Ronan as manager of the academy, which made him happier than I’d ever seen him.
He even gave Molly Moo her own spot as the unofficial mascot of Ballybeg Golf Academy.
Of course, this meant I had to hire a new cook, which I did, a single mother who’d wandered in from Cork who (I’d never tell Ronan this) made the best meat pies I’d ever eaten in my life. But I’m sure he found out soon enough because he was now living with Aislinn.
Jax and I moved into the farmhouse a few months ago. It was renovated now, but it still held on to the old charm that made it feel like home.
The whitewashed stone walls had been restored, and the slate roof—leaking for years—had been replaced while keeping its traditional look. Inside, the original wooden beams stretched across the ceilings, polished to a warm glow. The floors were a mix of flagstone and reclaimed wood, creaking in all the right places.
The kitchen had been modernized with sleek appliances and generous counter space, but the big farmhouse sink remained—the one Maggie and I used to stand at as children, washing dishes side by side.
Ronan had his own place now, just down the road, where he lived with Aislinn, her son, and their three-legged goat, Lucky. He replaced Johnny, who, alas, passed away last winter.
The past year and a half had flown by, and with it, so much had changed. I’d gone to Charleston to meet Jax’s people—his friends, his family, the world he’d come from.
His father was an arse who treated everyone likethey were dirt under his shoe. And I wasn’t about to let him treat Jax or me that way, and had, to Jax’s delight, said as much to him.
His brothers, on the other hand, were decent enough. A bit arrogant, sure, but not bad once you get to know them.
Jax’s friend Amara was someone I’d grown to love like a sister.
Her baby was the sweetest thing, with chubby cheeks and a gummy smile that could melt anyone’s heart. Amara had a way of putting me at ease, even when I was stressing about things that didn’t deserve the energy.
Through all of it—balancing trips to Charleston, London, and California, helping at the pub, and figuring out how to make room for Jax’s life in mine—I’d managed to keep my footing.
But now, with the Ballybeg Charity Golf Classic approaching, I was in over my head.
Jax was busy with his own training and championships, which meant I was in charge of pulling off this massive event.
Me.
Deirdre Gallagher, pub owner and occasional potato peeler, was running a feckin’ charity golf event that involved PGL pros, sports, and other celebrities, sponsors, and enough logistics to make my head spin.
When I looked out over the golf course that morning, my stomach was full of butterflies—angry,determined ones with absolutely no regard for my nerves.
This was the first charity golf game in Ballybeg.
The first major event since Jax’s idea became a reality.
The grass gleamed in the early spring sunshine, perfectly trimmed thanks to Darragh’s meticulous work.
The banners we hung between the trees flapped gently in the breeze, reading “Play for Ballybeg” and “Golf for a Cause” in bold, colorful letters.
We were raising money to improve healthcare access in villages across County Clare, including mobile clinics, mental health support, and resources for families who couldn’t afford the care they needed.
“Hey, Darragh, what the hell is that golf cart doing there?” Ronan cried out.
While I was worried about a hundred things like: what if the players didn’t show up, what if no one bid in the charity auction, what if…, Ronan was focused on someone accidentally driving their golf cart into the pond and was already eyeing the carts as if they were going to go sentient on him.
