Page 24 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Sixteen

D ylan rested his head against the back of the patio chair and closed his eyes, hoping the pounding in his skull would ease with the next breath.

It didn’t. The rhythmic throb echoed behind his eyes, pulsing with every heartbeat like a drum-line from hell.

Fucking concussions. He’d had a couple before—cost of doing business behind the plate—but this one… this one had teeth.

Russell. The bastard hadn’t just collided with him.

He’d deliberately slammed into him. There was jostling the ball loose, and then there was running someone down like a goddamn freight train.

Everyone in the park had seen it—the shift in Russell’s stride, the angle of his approach.

It had been deliberate. Malicious. Cheap.

The crowd’s reaction afterward said it all.

That kind of silence didn’t happen in a packed stadium unless everyone felt the same cold shock he’d experienced.

It was as if time had frozen. Even now, the memory of that moment—blinking against the brightness, unsure where he was or what had happened—twisted in his gut.

He’d barely been aware of the faces hovering above him, but he remembered Cody’s.

The kid had looked pale, shaken, his ever-present smirk wiped clean off.

Dylan hadn’t thought that was even possible.

For all their battles, all their back-and-forth, Patterson had looked genuinely scared.

That fact had stuck with him—wedged between the haze and nausea and sheer refusal to be hauled off the field like a broken toy.

He’d walked. Barely, but he had. And the noise that followed—the surge of the crowd, the roar of approval—it had made the splitting pain in his head almost worth it.

Almost.

Now he was benched. The doctors were playing it safe. Everyone freaked out over the word concussion these days, and rightly so. Medical reports, NFL lawsuits, long-term brain damage. No one wanted to be responsible for a second impact. Dylan understood. He just hated it.

The sliding glass door creaked open, and he instinctively turned his head toward the sound. Mistake. A blade of light sliced through his vision and lanced straight to the center of his skull. He hissed in pain and pressed a hand to his temple.

Okay, maybe the doctors weren’t wrong.

“Hey.” Savannah’s voice was soft, cautious. “I brought you some ice and sunglasses. Should you even be outside?”

He forced one eye open, immediately regretted it, then blinked until her silhouette blocked the sun. The pain eased marginally. Her shadow fell over him like a cool breeze, softening the edges of the throbbing ache.

She gently slipped the sunglasses over his face, adjusting them with careful fingers, her knuckles brushing his cheekbone. Blessed shade. He sighed with relief.

“I don’t want to be cooped up inside,” he muttered. “I just want to sleep.”

Her fingers shifted, trailing through his hair as she placed the ice pack on the lump at the side of his head. The tenderness of her touch nearly undid him. It had been a long time since someone had cared for him like this. Not out of obligation, not as part of a job. Just… care.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I have to ask you a few questions.”

He groaned and sat forward too quickly, which proved to be a terrible idea. Pain speared through his head, white-hot and unrelenting. He slumped back into the chair with a grunt. “Can’t you just let me sleep?” he snapped, more harshly than he meant.

Unfazed, she pulled up a chair beside him and rested her hand on his forearm. Her fingers were cool and soothing, tracing slow, grounding patterns on his skin. The contact sent a wave of calm through him, even as it sparked heat just beneath his skin.

“You know I can’t do that,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond. Just grunted.

“Okay. What’s your name?” she asked, like she hadn’t already asked it four times in the past twelve hours.

He rolled his head toward her. “Still Dylan Prosser. Still an asshole. Still pissed off at the world.”

“What’s today’s date?”

“Too goddamn bright and too goddamn loud.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone parked a bus on my face.”

She smirked, but her hand never stopped moving. “And what happened to you?”

He exhaled slowly, the anger draining a little with each answer. “Russell happened.”

Savannah handed him two acetaminophen and a glass of water. He downed them without fanfare and leaned back again, ice pack balanced precariously against his temple. The rustle of fabric and the scrape of her chair suggested she was about to leave.

“Savannah.”

She paused.

He fought to find the words, each one heavy and foreign in his mouth. “Thank you. And… I’m sorry. For being such a bastard.”

Her silence stretched between them, then came her quiet reply, “Get some rest, Dylan.”

Her voice wrapped around him like a blanket—warm, steady, unshakable. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that steadiness until now.

A wet nose nudged his hand, and he glanced down to find Sadie pressed against his leg, her amber eyes full of concern. He let his hand dangle, brushing her head, fingers curling into the soft fur behind her ears. She gave a low whine, then laid her chin on his thigh, as close as she could get.

He let the tension bleed out of him, one muscle at a time. The pain hadn’t diminished, but it dulled under Savannah’s care, under Sadie’s quiet presence. He felt the pull of sleep, heavier than before, but this time he didn’t resist.

For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that someone had his back. And maybe… maybe he didn’t have to fight everything alone.

S avannah stood at the kitchen sink, unmoving, hands braced on the edge of the counter as she stared out the window at the man stretched out on the chaise lounge.

Dylan looked peaceful in sleep—more peaceful than he had since he’d been brought home from the hospital—but she knew better.

His jaw was still clenched tight, like he was fighting even now, teeth locked against pain or maybe stubborn pride.

Tension rode his entire frame, a stiff, uncomfortable stillness that made her want to storm outside and physically smooth it out of him with her hands.

Sadie hadn’t moved either, her body curled at Dylan’s side like a sentry standing guard.

When Cody had helped Dylan through the front door that morning, the dog had gone wild—whining, pacing, trying to leap into his arms despite not being able to stand upright.

Somehow, she’d known, sensing the same storm that had clawed its way under Savannah’s skin.

Pain, fear, helplessness. Sadie had settled only when Dylan collapsed on the couch and rested his hand against her head, fingers twitching occasionally in her fur.

He needed her touch as much as the dog needed his, a lifeline shared in silence.

Savannah blinked hard, forcing away the burning in her eyes as the scene replayed again and again in her head—Cody’s uncharacteristically quiet voice, the sickly pallor on Dylan’s face, the way his feet had nearly dragged across the threshold.

Even Cody hadn’t tried to joke. He’d been pale and tight-lipped, barely meeting her eyes.

Anger simmered beneath his carefully blank expression, but she could see it—the helpless kind that came when someone you cared about had been hurt and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

But Savannah had moved. She’d kicked into action, organizing, managing, taking control of the things she could, because that was what she did.

When the world spun out, she created order.

And last night, when the screen had flashed that hit—Dylan going down hard, body folding under the weight of another player like a marionette whose strings had been cut—she’d nearly come undone.

She’d clung to Sadie like a lifeline, her own heart thundering in her throat as she whispered prayers to whoever might be listening.

If it hadn’t been for Cody’s call, she might have driven to the hospital on sheer adrenaline alone, no matter how little right she had to be there.

The memory made her throat tighten, and she gripped the counter harder, her knuckles whitening.

Her phone rang, the sharp sound yanking her back. She snatched it up without checking the screen.

“Hey,” she said, voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the open window.

“Savannah.” Lucy’s voice, high and tinged with something sharp. “How’s Dylan? I saw the hit on the news. Looked brutal.”

Savannah’s brows rose. “You watched the news?”

“Hey, I’m not a total mess,” Lucy shot back. “I check in. Occasionally.”

Savannah didn’t bite. “He’s okay. Resting. It was a concussion. I’m staying with him for now.”

“I figured as much,” Lucy said. “So… playing nurse, huh? Want me to dig out one of those costumes from Halloween last year?”

Savannah snorted softly, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’m fine, thanks. He’s hurt, Lucy. He needs someone.”

“And of course, that someone has to be you.” The teasing tone had vanished, replaced by something darker. Sharper. “You always have to be the one, don’t you? The savior. The caretaker. There are other people who need you.”

That edge cut deeper than Savannah expected. She swallowed hard. “Like who? You?” She tried to soften her tone, but it came out clipped. “Lucy, you’re a grown woman. You can start looking after yourself. Find a job. Get your life together.”

“I have a job,” Lucy bit out. “Waitressing. At the Watering Hole.”

Savannah closed her eyes. Not again. “Lucy, that’s where you met Ricky. Remember how that turned out?”

“There’s no pleasing you,” Lucy snapped. “I finally get a job, try to be responsible, and it’s still not enough. But go ahead. Play nursemaid to your new stray. That’s more your style anyway.”

The words slapped hard, the bitterness raw and unexpected.

“What the hell does that mean?”