Page 66 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

As I stepped outside into the cold, I wrapped my arms around myself.

Cillian was probably lying. That’s what he did. Jax wasn’t involved with the developers.But what if he was?

CHAPTER25

Jax

Two weeks.

That’s how long I’d been gone. Fourteen days that felt like a damn eternity.

I’d barely made it through the endorsement meetings in London, let alone the nightmare, which was the Dublin event where Francia showed up. Talk about drama. Give me honest-to-God snake versus puppy theater any day over Francia pretending to be all hurt because I cheated on her because we were at the same event.

“Maybe just talk to the press,” Brad suggested.

“I will not discuss my personal life with the media,” I gave him my canned response.

The thing was that if you did it once, they expected you to do it again. If you just didn’t talk about your life and only stuck to golf, no matter what, they couldn’t hold you hostage. Also, I didn’t give a flying fuck if people thought I cheated on Francia. Could not care less.

By the time I got to Cork, all I could think about was getting to Ballybeg—and her. I’d left Nikolai’s Porsche in Cork on my way to London and had arranged to have it delivered to him in Copenhagen. For the winding, narrow roads of County Clare, I’d rented something more practical—a Land Rover Defender. It wasn’t flashy, but it could handle the rugged countryside and unpredictable weather better than any sports car ever could.

I parked outside The Banshee’s Rest and all but ran inside, like a golfer chasing the perfect drive down the fairway—straight, sure, and desperate to see where it would land.

But the second I walked in, I knew something was wrong, especially when no one responded to my greeting.

The usual warmth of the pub wasn’t there. The regulars barely looked up at me from their pints, and Ronan—who was usually quick with a grin or a sarcastic remark—just gave me a curt nod before disappearing into the kitchen.

Fuck! Did something bad happen? What did I miss? And why the hell was Dee not behind the bar?

I set my bag down near the door, my chest tightening as I scanned the room. “Where’s Dee?” I asked Saoirse, my voice sharper than I intended.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re back now, are you?”

I looked at her, baffled, and then turned to Liam Murphy, who had stood up from his stool. The man didn’t look good. There was a gray pallor to his face. “Maybe it’s best you head back where you came from.”

What the fuck was going on?

“Liam, where’s Dee?”

“She’s in the back,” Seamus said almost pleasantly. “And just to let you know, I don’t believe any of that shite Cillian dropped here about you.”

I gaped at him. “What?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, Yank?” Liam muttered.

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I headed toward the kitchen, my boots echoing on the worn wooden floor.

When I pushed open the door, I found her standing at the counter, chopping vegetables with a fierceness that made me think she was imagining the cutting board was someone’s face. Her fiery hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing her usual apron—just an oversized sweater that looked like it had been through a war. She was a sight for my sore eyes.

“Dee.” I stepped closer.

She didn’t even look up. “What do you want, Jax?” Her tone was clipped and cold. Not prickly, not sassy, just…devoid of emotion.

I stopped in my tracks, frowning. “What’s going on? Did something happen while I was gone?”

She let out a bitter laugh, finally setting the knife down and turning to face me. Her green eyes were blazing, but there was something raw and painful in them that made my stomach twist. She was hurting. Fuck!

“You could say that.” She crossed her arms as if protecting herself. “Cillian stopped by.”

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