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 like they 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.
This hadn’t been an issue until Seamus decided to take a cart for a spin and ended up in the pond.
“You’re lookin’ sharp, Dee,” Aislinn commented as she puttered around, cool as a pint on a rainy day, even though she was catering lunch for fifty bodies, most of them famous as feck.
For the occasion, I put on a blazer over my jeans and T-shirt. I thought that looked formal enough for Ballybeg.
Jax said I could wear what I want. “Wear a bikini if it makes you happy.”
“In this weather? I’ll catch a cold.”
I tugged at the hem of my jacket, pacing near the edge of the old barn, which was now the clubhouse with a bar.
“Dee.”
I turned at the sound of Jax’s voice.
His easy smile still made my heart stutter.
He was ridiculously delicious in his golf attire—crisp navy polo, khaki pants, and a cap that made him look even more annoyingly handsome.
“Maybe a quick tumble would make me feel better,” I muttered.
He laughed. “I’m game if you are.”
I glowered at him. “We don’t have the time.”
“Darlin’ Dee, stop pacing.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re going to wear a hole in the grass.”
“I’m not pacing,” I protested petulantly.
He raised an eyebrow. “You are.”
“Fine,” I snapped, glaring at him. “So, I’m a bit scared, okay?”
“Scared of what?”
“Everything! What if—”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” he cut me off. “You’ve done an amazing job, Wildcat. Everyone’s here because of you.”
“That’s not true. They’re here because of you.”
“They’re here because of us.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Now stop worrying and enjoy it. You’ve earned it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Alright. But if Seamus drives the cart into the pond, you’re dealing with it.”
“I think that’s Ronan’s problem.” He then tilted his head. “I know it fucks up the cart and all that, but you can’t put a price on the entertainment value of Seamus screaming ‘Yippee ki yay, motherfucker’ as he takes on the pond.”
Laughter bubbled inside me and spilled out. And just like that, Jax Caldwell did what he was so good at doing, which was making me feel better.
My fears had been unfounded.
By midday, the course was buzzing with activity.
Players were scattered across the greens, laughing and cheering as they teed off.
Volunteers from the village manned refreshment stations, serving tea and sandwiches to anyone who wandered past.
Geraldine was walking around like she was the Queen with Poppy in her arms.
When I met Jax’s friends, they weren’t Cormac the Barber or Cadhla the Baker—oh no, these were people I’d seen on television. After all, they were professional athletes. They were a mix of accents and energy, each somehow larger than life and completely down-to-earth.
“Dee Gallagher,” one of them said, shaking my hand with a grin.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp blue eyes that reminded me a bit of Jax. He had a charming smile and a Nordic accent. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All lies, I’m sure.” I forced myself to smile through my nerves as I recognized the man.
He was Nikolai Andersen, the Danish football star who played for FCK and the Danish national team. I knew my football, I did. This was the friend whose Porsche Jax had been driving when he crashed into my life.
“Jax doesn’t lie,” he said with confidence.
“That’s true,” I agreed.
We ended up talking quite a bit. I liked him, and it was obvious he and Jax had an easy friendship.
“You’ve got a good thing going here.” He glanced over the course. “Ballybeg is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I puffed up with pride. “It’s been a lot of work, but the village has really come together to make this happen.”
His smile widened, and he nodded toward Jax, who was speaking with a tennis player who I think was ranked tenth in the world. How was this craziness my life?
“Jax has been praising your village nonstop. It’s clear how much it means to him.”
“I’m genuinely amazed at how all of this came around. Jax is a force to reckon with.”
“That’s what he says about you,” Nikolai teased before his expression became thoughtful. “If you ever need someone to help spread the word—or kick a football around for a fundraiser—let me know.”
“I will,” I said, genuinely touched by the offer.
By the time the last group finished their round and the auction started, my nerves had disappeared entirely.
The atmosphere was electric—laughter and applause filling the air as people bid on everything from signed golf clubs and balls to bottles of Aislinn’s homemade jam.
Jax stood beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist, grinning as if he just won the PGL all over again.
“We did it.” I leaned into him.
“You did it,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I just showed up and looked pretty.”
“And you are so very pretty.”
He chuckled, tightening his hold on me. “You wanna get naked with me since I’m so pretty?”
“Sure, let’s get rid of all these A-list celebrities…well…all but one.”
“Me, right?”
“Well, that Danish football guy is pretty hot,” I teased.
“Nikolai? He’s an arsehole.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“Not if you want to see him naked.”
I laughed, and so did Jax.
We joined his A-list celebrity friends who were mingling well with our Ballybeg kin, swapping stories over pints as if they’d known each other their whole lives.
Life had never been better.