Page 93 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

Ronan patted his back. “Now, Cillian, you’re to blame for your shite decisions, you know that, don’t you?”

Cillian pushed Ronan away. “It’shisfault,” he bellowed and lunged at me. His fist swung wide, and since he was drunk and unsteady, I missed the blow with ease, and he tripped on his own feet, landing flat on hisarse.

A few muffled laughs broke out around the room, but I raised a hand, silencing them. As much as I wanted to let the man stew in his misery, I wasn’t going to kick him while he was down.

“Cillian, man, you got to get your head out of your arse.”

But he wasn’t listening. He was still muttering, his words slurred and incoherent, and I glanced up at Ronan. “Let’s get him out of here.”

With Darragh and Ronan’s help, we hauled Cillian to his feet. He protested weakly, but he was too far gone to put up much of a fight.

“What’re we gonna do with him?” Darragh asked, his nose wrinkling as Cillian’s whiskey-soaked breath hit him.

Ronan shrugged. “We’ll dump him on the bench outside, and then he isn’t our problem.”

“He’s a gobshite.” Dee picked up her phone. “But we can’t just leave him out there. I’ll call his uncle and tell him to get his eejit of a nephew before he causes more trouble.”

While Dee took care of that, I helped Ronan prop Cillian up by the bench where Dee, Ronan, and I met for a nightcap after closing the pub.

The night air hit the drunk moron hard, and he groaned. “You think you’re so much better than me,” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. “But you’re just a smug American bastard who thinks he can fix everything.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you, Cillian,” I remarked dryly, feeling sorry for the dumbass despite myself. “But I do think you’re your own worst enemy.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Go to hell.”

“I’d say the same to you”—Ronan shook his head in pity—“but it looks like you’re already there.”

His uncle showed up forty-five minutes later when Cillian was snoring soundly. He thanked Dee, and we watched the taillights of the car that drove Dee’s ex away.

“You dated that gobshite?” I asked incredulously.

“So says the man who was with a woman calledFrancia?”

I shrugged. “She’s hot. She’s a freaking supermodel.”

“How do you know that underneath that wrinkled suit, Cillian doesn’t have the body of a god?” Dee suggested saucily.

“I doubt it.” I wrapped an arm around her.

“I’m telling you, that man has hands like?—”

I hauled her up in a fireman’s hold and smacked her ass with some force, but it only made her laugh hysterically.

“Shut up, bar wench, and let me show you what a man with good hands can do for you.”

CHAPTER36

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 knew because he was now living with Aislinn.

We’d moved into the farmhouse just a few months ago, and now it was renovated but still held on to the old charm that made it feel like home. The whitewashed stone walls had been carefully restored, and the slate roof, which had leaked for years, had been replaced but kept its traditional look. Inside, the original wooden beams stretched across the ceilings, polished to a warm shine, and the floors were a mix of flagstone and reclaimed wood, creaking in all the right places. The kitchen, though modernized with shiny appliances and plenty of counter space, still had the big farmhouse sink that Maggie and I used to stand at to wash dishes as kids.

Ronan now had his own place, just down the road, where he lived with Aislinn, her son, and their three-legged goat, Lucky (Johnny had, alas, passed away).

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