Page 26 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Seventeen

D ylan eyed the stadium parking lot as Savannah pulled the car to a stop outside the players’ entrance.

A few straggling fans lingered along the gates, and the media vans hadn’t rolled in yet, thank God.

Still, most of the team would already be inside.

Shit. He hated this part—walking in with everyone watching him, waiting to see how the injured guy looked, if he still had it.

He would’ve preferred slipping in early, unnoticed, already halfway into his warm-up routine before anyone clocked him.

But that wasn’t the hand he’d been dealt today.

He exhaled slowly and reached for his bag, only to find Savannah watching him, concern clouding her beautiful features. That sweet little furrow between her brows tugged at something in his chest. He forced a smile, giving her the cocky confidence he wasn’t quite feeling.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not suiting up yet. I’m on the DL for a few more days. Just cleared for light workouts.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced. Her sigh was quiet but pointed—then her eyes lit up.

Dylan turned to see Cody striding toward them from the tunnel, posture relaxed, ball cap backward, that typical too-big grin already in place.

Looked like he’d been waiting for them. The window slid down, and Savannah leaned out, her whole body language easing in a way that twisted the knot of tension low in Dylan’s gut.

“How are you doing, old man?” Cody called, his grin broadening before he aimed a wink at Savannah. “Hey, sexy lady.”

“Hey, kid,” Savannah replied, playful and warm.

Cody staggered back, clutching his chest as if she’d shot him. “Ouch. You wound me, Monroe. Right in the pride.”

Dylan muttered something under his breath and yanked open the door, stepping out with more stiffness than he wanted to show. Cody backed up, holding the door like a damn valet.

“What was that, Professor?” Cody asked, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“I said, back off.” Dylan narrowed his eyes just enough to get the point across.

Cody just laughed, draping an arm around Dylan’s shoulders like they were old drinking buddies instead of teammates barely holding their working relationship together.

“Savannah knows I didn’t mean anything,” Cody said with a crooked smile. “Good to have you back. I need your catcher’s eyes tonight. Boston’s been eating fastballs for breakfast lately.”

“You boys have fun tonight,” Savannah called sweetly from the car, “and be safe!”

Cody threw a grin over his shoulder. “I’ll bring him home safe and sound, Mom.”

Dylan shot her a look over his shoulder, trying to ignore the heat rising under his collar.

He hated how easily Cody made her laugh.

But it wasn’t the kid’s teasing that stuck—it was the way Cody winced slightly as he pulled his arm back from Dylan’s shoulder.

Barely there, just a hitch in the motion, but Dylan caught it.

He stopped just short of the tunnel and angled his body toward Cody. “What’s going on with your shoulder?”

Cody immediately rolled it, feigning nonchalance. “Just needs a little stretching. End of season tightness. No big deal.”

Dylan didn’t buy it for a second. “Cody,” he said, his voice low, steady. “Even before I got sidelined, I noticed your arm angle shifting. What’s really going on?”

Cody tensed, jaw flexing, eyes darting toward the tunnel entrance like he was hoping to escape the conversation.

“Look, man… we’re less than a month out from the playoffs.

We’re on a run nobody thought we’d make.

If I go down, there’s no backup. No one can take my place in the rotation.

It’s just stiffness. Nothing I can’t handle. ”

Dylan’s knees ached in sympathy, like they were reminding him of every ice bath, cortisone shot, and stubborn game-day decision he’d ever made. Yeah, they all played through pain. But there was pain—and then there was damage.

Still, he’d fought hard to build trust with this kid. They’d finally found a rhythm. This wasn’t the moment to push and break it again.

He nodded once, slowly. “Okay. But if it gets worse, you say something. Discomfort is one thing. Tearing your shoulder apart and destroying your future is another.”

Cody flashed a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You sound like you actually care.”

Dylan snorted and clapped him on the shoulder—gently. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He hesitated, then added, “And hey—thanks. For being there after the concussion. I know I wasn’t exactly fun to deal with.”

Cody looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’d have done the same for me.” He cleared his throat. “Now let’s stop talking before you get all misty-eyed and I start writing sonnets or something. We’ve got a game to win.”

Dylan chuckled and pushed through the tunnel, the sounds of the stadium echoing faintly ahead. But even as he walked, something twisted in his gut.

There was more going on with Cody than a little shoulder stiffness.

The kid was hiding something, playing through something. Dylan could feel it like a vibration beneath the surface, a pressure building just out of view. And he couldn’t let it slide. Not now. Not with everything on the line.

Because Cody was right—if they lost him now, it wouldn’t just screw up the rotation. It could tank their shot at the postseason entirely.

And Dylan had fought too hard, for too long, to let that happen.

D ylan sat slumped on the bench, chewing sunflower seeds like they might save him from death by boredom.

The sunlight sliced across the field in sharp, clean beams, but he stayed tucked in the shade of the dugout, his eyes still too sensitive after the concussion.

A couple of the starting pitchers lounged nearby, tossing idle comments at each other and watching the game with varying levels of interest. Beside him, Alex Rasmussen tapped out a restless rhythm on the bench with the heels of his hands, tension humming off him in waves.

Cody, meanwhile, was everywhere. At the top of the steps, flashing his boyish grin at fans leaning over the rail, hamming it up for the camera, even giving the bullpen a bit of grief. The kid couldn’t sit still to save his life.

“Man, he’s worse than a girl,” Alex muttered, his gaze tracking Cody. “Can’t stay in one damn place for more than five seconds.”

Dylan shrugged, spitting out a husk and grabbing his water bottle. “He hasn’t learned the rhythm yet. The big leagues don’t run on adrenaline and antics.”

“True.” Alex nodded, and a lull stretched between them before he added, “Thanks again for having us over a couple of weeks ago. I never got the chance to say it. Savannah’s something else.”

The smile tugged at Dylan’s lips before he could stop it. “Yeah… she is.”

Alex clapped a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Knew it. You two weren’t exactly joined at the hip back then, but I saw it coming. She’s gorgeous, yeah, but also solid. Not a lot of those out there.”

Dylan nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral but feeling that quiet satisfaction bloom in his chest. “Candice seemed nice too.”

The shift in Alex’s posture was immediate. He sat up straighter, his jaw tight. “Yeah, well. That’s over. I knew it was headed that way, just dragged it out. House gets real fucking quiet when you’re the only one in it. Thor’s good company, but he’s not the best conversationalist—or cuddle buddy.”

Dylan barked a laugh. “Let me be clear: if you’re saying you’re spooning with your dog, I will call Savannah, and she’ll have you put on some sort of watch list. She's got rules about animal boundaries.”

Alex grinned but it was laced with something bitter. “Nah. Just saying—it was nice having someone there. You know? Someone to talk to. Share dinner. The little shit you don’t think matters until it’s gone.”

Dylan leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching the game without seeing it.

Yeah, he knew exactly what Alex meant. His house had been cold, lifeless before Savannah.

She brought noise and laughter, dog hair and warmth.

She filled the space in ways he hadn’t even known were empty.

It wasn’t just about sleeping beside someone—it was knowing there was someone waiting for you when you came home. Someone who gave a damn.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… I get it.”

Alex glanced sideways at him. “You’re lucky, man. Just—watch yourself, yeah? It sucks when it turns out they wanted the jersey, not the guy in it.”

Dylan stiffened slightly, something cold and tight winding around his gut. “You think Candice was using you?”

Alex’s jaw ticked. “She was in marketing. Kept pushing for me to endorse these local campaigns. At first, it felt innocent. I like helping the little guys. But then I found out she’d pitched it to her boss like she had me locked in.

Said dating me gave her leverage. She was trading our relationship for a promotion. ”

A slow chill slid down Dylan’s spine. Shit. That was his worst fear given voice—being with someone who saw him as a tool, not a man. He thought Candice had seemed distant, maybe shallow, but he hadn’t pegged her as manipulative.

“I’m sorry,” Dylan muttered, meaning it.

“Yeah, well.” Alex shrugged, cracking more seeds between his teeth.

“Water under the bridge. I’ll bounce back.

Just… Savannah’s great, but you should keep your eyes open.

Nonprofits survive off of donations. Getting the Knights—or you—to sponsor her would be huge.

Hell, it could change her entire operation. ”

Dylan frowned. “I offered to help. She turned me down.”

Alex gave him a look. “What kind of help? Advice? Because if she’s smart—and she seems it—she might be hoping for more. A team sponsorship. A donation. Something big. I mean, I like her. She seemed genuine. But then again… I thought Candice was, too. Just keep your eyes open, yeah?”

Dylan nodded slowly, the words ringing louder in his head than they had any right to. “Yeah. I’ll be careful.”

They both turned back to the field, commentary shifting to pitch selection and batting tendencies, but Dylan’s mind drifted.

Was Alex right?

He didn’t want to believe it. Savannah didn’t act like other women he’d dated. She didn’t chase cameras or post their life online. Hell, she avoided attention altogether. But she ran a struggling rescue, and she had big dreams for it. Dreams that money could make real.

And Dylan? He had money. He had access. He had the name.

What if this whole thing—the dogs, the flirtation, even sleeping with him—wasn’t about him at all? What if he was just the means to her end?

His stomach turned. He hated even thinking it. Savannah didn’t feel like that kind of woman. She hadn’t asked for a dime. Hadn’t tried to leverage him. She had pride—he’d seen it. But that didn’t mean the temptation wasn’t there.

He had to know.

He needed to test the waters, figure out if this connection between them was real or just convenient for her.

God, he hoped Alex was wrong.

Because Dylan was in deeper than he’d planned. And if he’d misjudged Savannah… he wasn’t sure he could crawl back out.