Page 7 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

“If the tabloids think Jax Caldwell broke the heart of the latestSports Illustratedcover model, then?—.”

“Brad, there will benostatement.”

“Jax, listen, I?—”

“Brad, you’re the one not?—"

“This is news. And the paps are looking for you, by the way. I got a call from someone at TMZ asking if you were back in Charleston.” Brad paused for a moment. “Where the fuck are you?”

“In a bunker.”

I heard Brad sigh rather audibly. “Jax,” he warned.

“I was driving around Ireland after that charity golf thing in Killarney and…well, Nikolai’s car wentkaput,and now I’m in an Irish village called Ballybeg in the ass-end of nowhere with just two bars on my 5G.”

“Ballybeg? How big is it?”

How the fuck was I supposed to know.“Population: half a sheep and a goat.”And a very sexy redhead.

Brad chuckled. “Perfect. Stay there. Lay low. You don’t have anything for at least six weeks.”

In six weeks, I had an appearance for a sponsor in London. I had thought of going home to Charleston because my friend Amara was pregnant—but maybe I could stay here for a week or two, and then when fucking Francia was done getting publicity, I could head home.

I leaned against the window and looked down at the faint glow of light spilling on the wet cobblestones as the sun hid behind another dark cloud. There were worse places to be stranded.

“I can’t stay here for six weeks,” I remarked. “I’ve got meetings with the Nike people in Dublin and the Honma guys in London. But…maybe a week or two.” Though, I’d have to find a way to work out. Maybe I could run up and down those cliffs for cardio, and find a gym of sorts to lift weights.

“Right, right,” Brad murmured, and I knew he was looking through my calendar. “Where exactly are you staying?”

“An inn above a pub.”

“Huh?”

I grinned. I looked around the room. It was nice. I had checked the bathroom, and it had a clawfoot tub and heated floors. What more could a man ask for?

“It’s not a five-star hotel, Brad. But the owner of the pub said she’d leave a chocolate on my pillow if I was good.” I smiled when I thought about Dee.

“Jax, you feelin’ okay?”

“‘Course.”

“You made a fuss last time because your room smelled funny.”

That was at a resort in Florida. “That was because the guy next door was smoking cigars, and my roomwassmelling funny!Andit wasn’t ha-ha funny, more bring on an asthma attack hilarious,andI don’t even have asthma.”

“Okay, stay at…Bally, what the hell ever! I’m guessing there are no supermodels there?”

“You’d be guessing right.” However, Dee was way classier and sexier than Francia could ever dream of being.

“I’ll deal with the fallout here.”

“You’ll deal with fuck all, Brad. The story will die down. It always does. Francia gets a few minutes of attention, and then we can all return to our regular programming.” Which was what for me? I had no idea anymore. I was a professional golfer who had enough family wealth that I didn’t need to work for a living, which was why I didn’t give a shit if my sponsorships were jeopardized, but I knew Brad cared, and the people who worked on my team to promote my career would care as it would hurt their income and they didn’t have a trust fund.

After ending my call with Brad, I felt strangely light.

It wasn’t like I never took time off. I did. I wasn’t one of those people who believed in killing themselves for a paycheck by working all the fucking time.

I knew players who were either training or doing photo and film shoots for ads or whatever, or PR—or they were playing whatever pro game was their poison. I was not one of them. I didn’t need more money. I played golf because I loved it. I went to tournaments because I was a competitive motherfucker, and I liked to win. And if I stopped doing this or was prevented from doing it, what the hell else was there for me to do? My family expected me to join the Caldwell family business, but that was never my thing. I wasn’t a businessman. If I’d wanted to go down that road, I would’ve done it years ago—back when I fell in love and proposed to Daniela, my Dani, who’d been in my life since we were kids. She’d been my first and only for the longest time, but she left me because she wanted to marry a stable guy—not someone chasing dreams with nothing but a good golf swing to his name. Since then, I hadn’t been in relationships—I’d also not been close to my family. Sure, my father had pulled me back into the foldafterI won my first PGA championship. That was my family; they wanted you only when you were useful.

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