Page 31 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

He looked away for a moment, his jaw ticking. “I think you know most of it already. Dad was a ballplayer, all about the game. Mom left when I was ten. Took Lindsey with her, chasing something bigger, brighter.” He paused. “Lindsey got the limelight. I got the work ethic.”

She waited quietly. Not prying. Just... waiting.

“I wanted to play baseball since before I can remember. Hell, I probably had a glove before I had teeth.” He gave a short laugh. “But I swore I’d never be like my dad. Never be the guy who’s always gone, missing everything important.”

Her fingers stilled.

He didn’t look at her as he continued. “He used to say we were a team—me, him, Lindsey. But the second the numbers didn’t add up, he’d bail. New city, new team. We were just luggage. Accessories.”

Savannah’s expression was soft when he finally met her eyes again. “What about the off-season? Didn’t he come home then?”

“Sometimes. When he wasn’t playing winter ball or chasing the next contract. I know now he was probably trying to support us... but we didn’t need money. We needed him.”

The bitterness in his voice surprised even him.

She reached across the table and curled her hand around his again. “I’m sorry.”

He managed a half-smile. “It’s fine. Ancient history.”

“Is it?” she asked softly.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. “He still calls. Still tries to steer my career like it’s his.”

She hesitated. “Where do you want to go next?”

That question. It struck deeper than she probably realized.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m tired of moving. I want to stay. I want to build something real. This team’s finally clicking—late, but we’ve got something.”

Her lips parted. “Are they not re-signing you?”

“No one talks contracts in a pennant race. My agent’s watching the off-season. Other teams have openings.” His gaze sharpened, heating as it locked with hers. “But right now... I find Savannah far more interesting.”

She blushed under his attention, a pink flush that rose high on her cheeks, and she looked away with a shy smile. When she tried to pull her hand back, he caught it and flipped their grip, thumb teasing over her pulse.

“How was your meeting with the sponsor?”

And just like that, her glow dimmed.

She sighed, her voice flat. “He said we’re too small. No big-name support. Not enough fundraising power. He wants a ‘viable investment,’ not a rescue with dreams and dogs.”

The pain behind her words gutted him. He hated how her shoulders curled inward, as if bracing against another blow.

“You want help?” he asked gently.

She froze.

For a moment, she looked like she might say yes.

Then she shook her head. “No. It’s not your burden. We’ll figure it out.”

The waiter appeared, dropping their meals with impeccable timing. Dylan didn’t taste a damn thing. Not with her words hanging heavy between them.

Not with the quiet ache in her voice when she said, “We’ll figure it out.”

Because all he wanted to do—more than win, more than hit a game-winner—was help her carry the load. And she wouldn’t let him.

D ylan watched Savannah over the flickering candlelight as she pushed a piece of filet around her plate.

She hadn’t taken more than a few bites since the waiter had delivered their food.

Her earlier spark—the soft flush when he flirted, the quiet laugh that lit her entire face—had dimmed.

She hadn’t said much since their talk about the failed sponsor meeting.

Her walls weren’t just back up; it was like she’d retreated into some place he couldn’t follow.

And he didn’t like it.

He took a slow sip of his bourbon, the burn familiar and grounding, and let himself study her.

Really study her. The way her shoulders hunched in, just slightly, like she was bracing against disappointment.

The way she kept glancing down at her hands in her lap, not making eye contact.

She was somewhere else. And he hated that he couldn’t reach her.

What gnawed at him most was how much he’d hoped she’d ask.

He’d put it out there—an offer to help, to do something—and she’d hesitated. He’d seen it in her eyes, the moment her pride warred with her need. And damn it, part of him had been waiting for her to take it. To ask.

He could’ve helped. Would’ve, no question.

But then there was the other part of him.

The part that had been burned before. The one that wondered if she had said yes, if it would’ve changed everything between them.

If he would’ve looked at her differently.

If this—they—was just another situation where someone wanted something from Dylan Prosser, the ballplayer.

Not Dylan the man. Not the guy who woke up next to her, memorized the rhythm of her breath in sleep, who kept thinking about her long after he should’ve been focused on baseball.

He wasn’t proud of it—how conflicted he’d felt even as he made the offer. He’d phrased it like a challenge. Like he dared her to say yes.

And when she said no?

His heart had leapt so fast, he’d had to look away and bury his reaction behind a casual sip of bourbon. She hadn’t asked. She chose not to.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much.

But it did.

She didn’t want him for what he could do for her rescue. She wanted him. Or at least, that’s what he told himself, even if the fear still lingered in the background like a stubborn shadow.

He looked down at his plate and realized he hadn’t touched his food either.

Still, just because she hadn’t asked didn’t mean he couldn’t help her. There was a difference between being used and choosing to step in.

His mind drifted back to something Nick and Alex had mentioned at the cookout.

The team was planning its annual Bark in the Park night—a promotional event where fans could bring their dogs to the stadium, complete with contests, giveaways, and proceeds going to a local animal charity.

Usually, someone on the team had a connection, and that decided the beneficiary.

But this year? No one had spoken up. No one had a preferred rescue.

Yet.

He leaned back in his chair and let the idea take root. Soul Paws. Savannah’s rescue.

It was perfect.

They could shine a spotlight on her organization, giving her the exposure she needed to draw in other sponsors.

If he played it right, it wouldn’t look like he was pulling strings—it would just be a natural connection.

Good PR. Great cause. The kind of tie-in Stacia Kendall, their PR director, would eat up.

And Savannah?

She’d never have to know he was the one who got it rolling.

He wouldn’t let her pride take another hit. She didn’t need to ask. She shouldn’t have to. He could do this behind the scenes—help without making her feel like she owed him something.

Dylan nodded to himself, the idea solidifying like a puzzle piece snapping into place. He’d call Stacia tomorrow. Make it happen.

It wouldn’t fix everything, but it might give Savannah the momentum she needed. A little boost to prove to the other sponsors that she was worth betting on.

And hell, maybe it would help ease the pressure she carried on those too-tense shoulders. Let her breathe. Let her be happy.

That was all he wanted, anyway. To see her happy.

To keep that light in her eyes from fading.