Page 34 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Twenty-Two

D ylan had been unsettled all damn day. Not the kind of restlessness that could be solved with a nap or a lazy afternoon game.

No, this gnawed at him like something buried under his skin—itching, crawling, demanding.

He couldn’t focus on the upcoming series.

He couldn’t even distract himself with Sadie, who tried her best to pull him into a game of fetch before settling for a run.

He enjoyed the time with her more than he expected, the rhythmic slap of his feet on pavement, the wind in his ears.

But even then, Savannah drifted through his mind like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

She’d been off this morning. Something wasn’t right. And despite her words, despite her insistence she needed space, he hadn’t bought it for a second.

His thoughts kept circling back to her rescue.

Maybe she’d lost funding. Maybe the big sponsor she was banking on had pulled out.

She wouldn’t take a handout—she’d made that clear—but, dammit, there had to be something he could do.

Flowers? Too cliche. Chocolate? Savannah wasn’t the type.

No, she wanted action. Long-term commitment. Sustainability.

He was about ready to go crazy when, just after six, pacing the living room with his phone in one hand and keys in the other, a text buzzed through from an unknown number.

It’s Lucy, Savannah’s sister. Did you really want to help?

His thumb hovered over the screen. The weight of that question hit him hard in the chest.

Yes.

The reply came fast.

Come over now. If you meant it.

He didn’t hesitate. Crate for Sadie. Keys. Wallet. Phone. Gone.

He peeled out of his driveway like the gates of hell were on his heels, breaking every speed limit on the way to Savannah’s.

When he skidded into her driveway, tires crunching on gravel, Lucy was already outside, reclined in a plastic chaise lounge in the front yard, drink in hand like she didn’t have a care in the world.

She wore a bright bikini top and shorts, her sunglasses reflecting the setting sun, but her stillness didn’t match the casual picture. She was waiting for him.

He stalked across the yard, fists clenched. “What the hell is going on?”

Lucy turned her head slowly, studying him over the rim of her drink. Tequila, if his nose was right. “Easy, slugger. She’s inside. But we need to talk first.”

He stopped short, frustration riding him like a storm cloud. “Talk? Seriously? You drunk-texted me for talk?”

She gave a lazy shrug and pushed an empty lawn chair toward him with her foot. “First one tonight. Sit down.”

He glanced toward the house.

“Not yet,” she said, sharper this time. “She doesn’t need you crashing in there hot. She needs… something else.”

He sat, but barely. Perched on the edge like a coiled spring, hands steepled in front of him. “What do you want to know? My intentions? My blood type?”

She cracked a dry smile but set the drink down. The sunglasses came off. And just like that, the joking was gone.

“Savannah saves things. People, dogs, lost causes like me. She takes in the broken pieces and tries to glue them back together. You probably already know that. But what you don’t know is what it costs her.”

Dylan stiffened, heart ticking faster. “Tell me.”

“She went to the shelter today. Like she does every Tuesday.” Lucy’s voice turned brittle. “Only this time, she had to make room. Carl’s room.”

His breath caught. “No. She didn’t.”

“She did. Alone. Didn’t want help. Wouldn’t ask for it even if she needed it. That dog… he’s her heart, Dylan. You don’t see her cry much, but I saw her this morning. She broke something in herself today.”

The pain hit like a punch to the sternum. “Jesus.”

“She gives them up before she gets too close. But it was too late with Carl.” Lucy’s gaze pinned him. “Like it might be too late with you.”

He surged to his feet, energy crackling under his skin. “Why would she do that alone?”

“Because she thinks she has to,” Lucy snapped. “Because she thinks no one stays. That love doesn’t last. Eventually, even the ones she saves will walk away.”

He swallowed hard. “I offered to help. I told her I was there.”

“And she doesn’t believe it.” Lucy’s tone softened. “Not because she doesn’t want to. Because she’s never had anyone prove otherwise. So I’m asking you straight: are you that person? Are you going to be here when she falls apart?”

“Yes.” The word came out guttural, raw. “Absolutely.”

Lucy rose and stepped into his space, her expression unreadable. “Then go. But don’t screw it up. You hurt her worse than today, I’ll find a way to make you feel it.”

He almost laughed, but her eyes told him she meant it. “Duly noted.”

She tossed him a set of keys. “I’ll take care of Sadie tonight. Lindsey’s there. Don’t worry. I won’t throw a party.”

“Much appreciated.” He started toward the house.

“Dylan.”

He looked back.

“You’re one of her strays too, you know.”

He gave a humorless smile. “Yeah. I figured that out.”

As Lucy got into her car and pulled away, he stood in the yard for a long moment, letting the quiet settle around him. Crickets chirped. The last rays of sun burned orange and gold across the horizon. And something inside him twisted, tight and aching.

The house loomed in front of him. Still. Too still.

Panic stirred in his gut and he broke into a jog, fear clawing at the back of his throat. He didn’t know what he’d find inside.

But he knew he was already too late not to care.

S avannah sat curled in the center of her bed, cocooned in her oversized nightshirt that read, “ In rescuing animals, I lost my mind, but found my soul. ” The words felt more like a confession tonight than a slogan.

She tugged her Sherpa-lined, faux suede blanket tighter around her shoulders, its comforting weight doing little to warm her against the chill burrowed deep in her bones.

The blanket had originally been meant for the dogs, but like so much in her life, it had shifted purpose—becoming her armor for nights like this, when rescue didn’t feel like salvation, but surrender.

The heat clung to the Georgia air, thick and cloying, but her skin still prickled with cold, her muscles coiled with exhaustion and grief.

From the other room, she heard Lucy’s rust-bucket of a car rattle down the drive, mercifully taking her sarcasm and sharp eyes with her.

Savannah didn’t have the energy to deflect her sister’s judgment tonight.

She needed to grieve in peace. One night.

Just one night to fall apart before she had to put the pieces of her life back together again.

She’d told herself a facility would help, that creating some physical distance from the dogs might create emotional distance too.

But that had been a lie. Carl had slipped past all her defenses.

She’d held on to him too long, loved him too much.

Rookie mistake. She knew better. Still, the ache in her chest told her that knowing better didn’t mean feeling less.

The screen door banged.

She froze.

Panic flooded her veins. Lucy was gone. She was supposed to be alone.

Before she could move, a shadow filled her doorway—tall, solid, radiating intensity like a storm front rolling in off the water.

“Dylan,” she rasped, the sound barely a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Her voice wavered. Damn it. She hated that.

His gaze swept over her, too sharp, too observant.

He saw the red-rimmed eyes, the crumpled tissues spilling from the basket beside the bed, the raw edges she hadn’t bothered to hide.

She braced for pity, for revulsion, for the discomfort she’d seen in too many eyes before.

Men who claimed to love dogs but couldn’t handle the mess that came with loving someone who did.

Instead, Dylan crossed the room without a word and sat beside her.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, grounding her, anchoring her.

His arms came around her, firm but gentle, drawing her into the curve of his chest. One hand cradled her head, pressing it to his shoulder, while his lips brushed the crown of her head with aching tenderness.

That small act undid her.

She crumpled into him, let the tears come unchecked, sobs wracking her until she felt hollowed out and raw.

And still he held her—no words, no pressure.

Just the steady glide of his hand up and down her back, the quiet strength of someone who wasn’t afraid of the mess, who didn’t flinch at her broken pieces.

When her sobs finally softened into hiccups, he eased her back, smoothing the damp strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears like she was something precious. He wrapped the blanket around her again, and for a moment, she thought he might leave.

Her chest clenched.

But he didn’t. He slipped away only to return moments later with a damp washcloth and a steaming mug. The cloth was shockingly cold against her overheated skin, but it soothed her, helped her feel like maybe she was still tethered to her body.

“I thought some tea and honey might help your throat,” he said softly.

She took it, the ceramic warm against her chilled fingers. “Thanks.” Her voice scraped like sandpaper, and she winced.

He brought the mug to her lips. She took a tentative sip—and blinked. “Is that tequila?”

He grinned, wicked and warm. “Just a splash. Alcohol helps too.”

He settled beside her again, his arm draped across her shoulders like he belonged there. She let herself lean in, let the heat of him sink into her skin. Between the tea, the blanket, and Dylan’s presence, her trembling finally eased. Her muscles unknotted by inches.

As she finished the last sip and set the mug down, he murmured, “Is this why you didn’t want me around today?”

She gave a small nod. “It’s part of it. Most people don’t understand.”

“I could’ve been there. I would’ve gone with you.” His voice held no accusation, just a quiet ache. “You let Lucy go instead?”