Page 15 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Ten

A fter another night of restless tossing, Dylan woke with a stiff, aching erection and no one to help him deal with it—least of all the woman haunting his every damn thought. Savannah. In his bed. In his arms. The image had taken hold like a fever dream, and now it refused to let go.

He tried to exorcise it—forced himself to think about the team.

About Cody. About anything but the curve of her lips or the fire behind her smart-ass grin.

Eventually, the relentless pressure subsided.

He fed Sadie, who gave him a look of judgment and affection in equal measure, as if she knew exactly what—or who—was driving him crazy.

Savannah Monroe.

The temptation of her name echoed through him as he grabbed his gear and headed to the ballpark. He needed a distraction. A challenge. Something to focus on besides the burn of wanting someone who wasn’t his.

The place was quiet—peaceful. Just the way he liked it. He was early, as usual. The scouting reports loaded on his tablet glowed a bright white while the rhythmic clang of weights filled the gym. The television muttered in the background about the playoff race and second-half collapses.

He powered through his workout, gritting his teeth against the way his thoughts kept drifting—again—to Savannah.

How she’d looked in that ridiculous oversized sweatshirt, teasing him like she didn’t know she was driving him out of his mind.

Her scent. Her laugh. The way she challenged him like no one else.

Focus, Dylan.

He pushed harder through his reps, dragging his mind back to where it needed to be—Cody. The kid was an issue. A talented one, but if they didn’t figure things out, it would cost them games.

As he was finishing his final set, the door creaked open. A few guys wandered in, chuckling about the off day, calling lazy greetings. None of it stuck. His brain stayed locked on Cody and the night game—and how the hell he was supposed to reach a pitcher who refused to be reached.

“Hey, Dylan. You ready for the second half of the season?”

Jason Friar strolled in like he owned the joint, casual in a worn Georgia Knights shirt and faded jeans. He pulled up a chair beside Dylan, the movement easy, familiar.

Dylan set the tablet aside, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. I’m feeling solid. Locked in at the plate. Legs feel good.”

Jason nodded. “Good. Catching wears you down. Most guys start fading by now. But I’m not here about your swing or your knees. I want to know about the staff. Especially Patterson.”

There it was.

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. I’ve got prep to do.”

Jason grimaced. “Stacia says I skipped the class on subtlety. Probably right. Look—I know Cody. He’s a cocky little shit with a golden arm and a glass ego. You two aren’t clicking.”

Dylan blew out a breath, pacing the floor in front of him. “He’s not letting me in. Won’t trust me. Four months and we’re still not syncing up.”

“Could be mental. Could be ego. Could be both,” Jason said, standing beside him.

“You got tossed into this mess mid-spring training, and then the Miranda drama blew up. You’ve been firefighting since day one.

And yeah, we brought you in to be the anchor.

We believe in you, Dylan. You’re the guy. Even if it’s your walk year.”

The words dug under his skin. He didn’t need reminding. He knew what was riding on this season—for the team, for his legacy. For what came next.

And maybe…for her.

Savannah had no idea how much he wanted to stay here. To build something. To see if this thing between them—whatever it was—could become more than stolen moments and unspoken tension. But first, he had to prove himself. On the field. In the clubhouse. Everywhere.

“I’m going to give you some advice,” Jason added. “Someone once gave it to me.”

Dylan crossed his arms, shielding himself out of instinct. But he listened.

“Relax. Let all the other shit drift away. That kid’s running wild. The faster he spins, the more control he loses. You’ve got to be the one to steady him. He needs to trust you.”

Dylan snorted. “Suggestions? He thinks I talk too much.”

“Maybe you do. Figure out what makes him tick. You were the rock in Minnesota. You kept Napoli from melting down. He trusted you. Find the blueprint, tweak it if you have to.”

Jason greeted a few outfielders on his way out, then paused at the door. “Dylan? Trust the kid first. He’ll trust you back.”

The words hung in the air like incense—vague and irritating.

Trust the kid. Right. He might as well trust the goddamn Force while he was at it.

Dylan headed into the locker room and stopped.

The moment he walked in, he could feel it. Invisible lines. Divides. Pitchers over here. Infielders there. Bullpen guys joking off in the corner. Backup catcher holding court like he had nothing better to do.

And Dylan? Alone. Always just outside the lines.

He scanned the room. Cody stood with the starters, cracking jokes, swagger turned up to ten. The cocky little bastard didn’t seem even remotely aware that he had a critical game tonight. No urgency. No pressure. No connection.

Cody’s gaze lifted and locked with his. A flicker of defensiveness flared behind his eyes, as if he expected another lecture. And maybe he wasn’t wrong. Dylan could feel the irritation bubbling up again.

Then Jason’s voice cut through the noise in his head.

Trust the kid.

He gave Cody a curt nod. Not much, just enough. A gesture. A beginning.

Cody blinked in surprise, like he didn’t know what to do with that. And Dylan took the win for what it was—small but intentional.

He turned back to his locker, dropped into the chair, and opened the scouting report.

Savannah would tell him to quit being a stubborn jackass and actually talk to the kid. Or maybe she’d challenge him to a bet, raise the stakes until he couldn’t ignore them. That was the thing—she always pushed him in ways that pissed him off…and pulled him in.

He’d handle Cody.

He’d handle the game.

And if he was lucky, maybe he’d figure out what the hell to do about the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

T he game went about as well as could be expected—maybe even slightly better.

Dylan hadn’t put extra pressure on Cody, and for once, the kid didn’t act like he had something to prove.

He still missed high in the zone too often, but he hadn’t shaken Dylan off as much.

That was progress. Tenuous, but progress. They won—barely.

After the final out, Dylan had tried to pull Cody aside for a post-game debrief, but the kid brushed him off, muttering something about the heat like it was the sun’s fault his curveball had no bite. Dylan let it go, jaw clenched, patience fraying at the seams.

Now, after midnight, all he wanted was to collapse into bed and shut the world out.

His body ached from squatting behind the plate for over three hours—every muscle stiff and strung tight.

His neck throbbed from craning to read umpires and track high fastballs.

But more than anything, he was tired of walking on eggshells—on the field, in the clubhouse, in his own damn mind.

The moment his headlights swept across the driveway and lit up the dusty old Suburban, his pulse stuttered. Savannah. That clunky beast meant she was still here. Still in his house.

Still waiting for him.

A strange flicker—hope, maybe—lit in his chest.

He pulled into the garage, cut the engine, and slipped inside quietly, careful not to wake the dogs. Or her.

He didn’t make it past the living room.

There she was, curled on the couch, limbs loose and easy, like she belonged there.

The dogs dozed on the floor in front of her, snoring like a damn chorus of chainsaws.

Dylan stood in the doorway, struck still.

She was sleeping, peaceful in a way that undid him, one arm tucked beneath her cheek, chest rising in a slow rhythm beneath her faded t-shirt.

The sight of her unraveled something knotted inside him.

Coming home had never felt like this before. It used to be silence and shadows. The echo of his own footsteps in a house too clean, too empty. But now, someone waited. Someone cared.

It was… nice.

Too nice. Dangerous, even.

Sadie stirred first, hopping up and trotting over for her customary belly rub. Her tags jingled softly, the only warning before Savannah blinked awake and stretched with a low groan. Her shirt rode up just enough to tease. Dylan’s gaze dipped automatically—then froze on the lettering.

“ Balls are overrated. Neuter your pets. ”

Reflexively, he winced and tightened his thighs. “Damn,” he muttered, rubbing Carl’s head in sympathy. “Sorry, dude. They’re really not overrated. In fact, I’d argue they’re pretty damn great.”

Savannah pushed upright and covered Carl’s ears with both hands. “Hey! He doesn’t need to know what he’s missing.”

Dylan straightened with a snort and wiped his palms on his pants. “How would you feel if someone chopped yours off without asking? I’d be pissed.”

“It’s better than a bunch of neglected puppies running around,” she said, gearing up. “You know, that’s your problem?—”

“Whoa.” He burst into laughter, holding up his hands. “Chill out, Savannah. I’m just giving you grief. You can’t wear that shirt around a guy and expect no comments. We’re kind of attached to our balls, you know.”

She grinned despite herself, pink tinging her cheeks. “Sorry. I take rescue a little too seriously sometimes.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

He walked into the kitchen, suddenly needing a beer more than air. The fridge hissed open, and he grabbed a cold one. She followed a beat later, the soft pad of her feet on tile sending heat straight to his gut. She climbed onto a bar stool like she’d done it a hundred times, like she belonged.

He gestured with the bottle. She nodded. He passed one to her, cracked his open, and leaned back against the counter, pressing his head into the cabinets with a tired exhale.

“What’s got you down, punky?”

The nickname made him snort. He didn’t answer right away, peeling at the beer label with restless fingers. But something in her tone—or maybe just the fact that she stayed—got under his skin, cracked him open a little.

She set her beer down, walked around the breakfast bar, and stood in front of him, concern shadowing her eyes.

“Dylan, what’s going on? Is it Lindsey?”

He barked a humorless laugh. “No. That’s its own disaster.”

She didn’t back down. Just waited.

He stared at his hands. “Have you ever tried to connect with someone who won’t let you in? Who looks at you like you’re the enemy, no matter what you say?”

She shrugged. “All the time. It’s my job.”

“Not a dog. A person. You really need to get out more.”

She narrowed her eyes and smacked his arm. “Dogs and people aren’t so different. You build trust the same way—with consistency, respect, and time. Look at Sadie. How’d she become your shadow?”

He glanced down. Sadie was sprawled on her back, completely unbothered by life. “I fed her.”

“Exactly. But you also protected her. Gave her a safe place. That matters. You can’t expect trust without giving something of yourself first.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. Her touch was light but electric. His skin warmed under her fingers, and something deeper stirred—something he wasn’t ready to name.

“Dylan, you can’t keep people at arm’s length. You have to let them in.”

And just like that, every wall he’d spent years building shook on its foundation.

Her voice, her eyes, her touch—all of it unraveled him. His gaze locked on hers, heat coiling low in his stomach. Lust hit him hard, sudden and searing, but it wasn’t just that. It was a craving for something more. Something real.

If he leaned in now, if he kissed her, would she meet him with the same hunger? Would she thread her hands in his hair, clutch his shoulders, breathe his name like a vow?

Her fingers tightened briefly on his arm—then jerked away. She blinked, eyes wide, as if she felt it too. Felt the shift. The dangerous pull.

“I should go,” she whispered, backing up a step. “It’s late, and you need rest. Tomorrow?”

He couldn’t speak. Could barely nod.

She whistled softly, and her dog followed her to the door. Dylan stood frozen, the taste of her almost-kiss haunting his tongue. He clenched the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white.

He wanted to call her back. To ask—no, beg—her to stay.

But she was gone.

He flicked off the lights. The house plunged into shadow again.

Sadie nudged his thigh gently. A quiet promise that he wasn’t completely alone.

He rubbed her ears with a hand that still tingled from Savannah’s touch and closed his eyes.

But it wasn’t comfort he craved.

It was her.