Page 23 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

I grinned. “Can you pretend the car isn’t ready.”

He let out a low whistle, glancing over at the sleek black Porsche in the corner. “You’re telling me you’d rather stay in Ballybeg than drive that beauty out of here?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not in a rush to get back to real life.” I drank some tea. “And the pub’s growing on me. Or maybe it’s the company.”

“Ah.” Paddy wiggled his eyebrows knowingly. “So, it’s our Dee, is it?”

I shrugged, playing it cool, even though my mind immediately went to the way her green eyes lit up when she gave me a hard time. “Maybe.”

Paddy turned serious. “You won’t be hurting her, will you?”

“No! Never intentionally. I…she stirs something in me.”

“She’s special, is our Dee,” he said with a smile. “Hard life she’s lived. Broke her heart to lose her parents and then Maggie. That O’Farrell asshole was never good enough for her, and I’m glad she didn’t end up marrying the wanker.”

I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression, so I clarified, “Nothing is going on between us, and there may never be anything. I just…like it here. I like the fresh air, the easy life, Ronan’s food. I’ve been working hard for years, and this has become a welcome break.”

“You and Dee are grown. It ain’t any of my business. Just treat her with respect. That’s all I ask.”

“That I will do,” I promised.

Paddy finished his tea and took it to the sink. He rinsed it and set it on the drying mat. “Fine. I’ll tell her I’m waiting on new parts. But you’re paying for the storage fee.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “How big are the parts?”

Paddy laughed. “What do you care?”

I pulled out a thousand euros and set it on the table.

“I was jokin’, lad. I wouldn’t take your money for nothing. Keep that in your pocket. I’ll bill you when the car is ready.”

I did as he asked. This village was not about money—this was about heart and being honest. He hadn’t said, you have to marry Dee, just that I treat her with respect. Fuck me, but I liked the people of Ballybeg.

“Ah, can you take me to Mickey Byrne’s…gym?” I wasn’t sure what to call it. “I need a place to work out if I’m staying here longer.”

Paddy chuckled, shaking his head like I was the most entertaining thing that had happened in Ballybeg in years. “How long are you planning on staying, boyo?”

I shrugged. “A few weeks.” I couldn’t stay longer—I had responsibilities. Tournaments. Meetings. All of it suddenly felt like a burden when it never had before.

“Come on, I’ll take you to Mickey’s place. He’s a good egg, our Mickey is, and he’ll whip you into shape.”

CHAPTER8

Dee

He didn’t leave on TuesdayorWednesday. In fact, he’d been here nearly two weeks, and Paddy still said his car wasn’t ready. Everyone in Ballybeg knew by now that Jax had hooked up with Mickey Byrne, who, for reasons unknown, liked him when Mickey didn’t like anyone.

The story went that Jax had wandered into Mickey’s place with Paddy, curious as to what was behind the sagging doors of the old community center Mickey owned. The old boxer had been in the ring with one of the local lads, barking instructions as he demonstrated footwork. Jax, being the cocky Yank he was, commented on the boy’s stance. According to the village grapevine, Mickey shot him a glare sharp enough to curdle milk. “You think you can do better, boyo?”

Apparently, Jax had shrugged, stepped into the ring (took his shirt off before he did that, I was told), and promptly showed Mickey that, yes, he bloody well could do better.

As it turned out, the golden boy from Charleston had spent a few years learning to box back in his teens. His high school coach (he played football, the American kind), as the story went, thought it would toughen him up after Jax got into one too many fights in school. “Something about a kid nicking some other kid’s lunch,” Eileen Noland recounted dramatically at Cadhla’s bakery. “Though, I think it was about a lass, ‘cause it’s always about a lass with boys.”

Whatever the reason, Jax had picked up enough skills to impress Mickey Byrne—a feat not even the local lads, who’d been training with him for years, could pull off.

“He’s got good hands,” Mickey had reportedly told Paddy later that night over a pint. “Quick feet, too. His old coach must’ve known what he was doin’.” Coming from Mickey Byrne, that was practically a love letter.

By the next day, Jax was a fixture in the gym every morning, sparring with Mickey and helping the younger lads with their jabs.

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