Page 38 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

D ylan pulled into Savannah’s driveway, exhaling when he saw that Lucy’s car wasn’t parked out front.

Thank God. He wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or cryptic warnings tonight.

Not after the emotional landmine of the game, not after shepherding Cody through his drunken spiral.

He felt strung out—his muscles sore, his patience thin—and all he wanted was the quiet comfort of Savannah. Her voice. Her touch. Her presence.

Savannah stepped out the front door, Sadie’s leash in hand.

The pup bolted toward him, tail a blur, body wriggling like she hadn’t seen him in years.

He crouched down automatically, burying his face in her fur, letting the eager licks and soft whines ground him.

When he looked up, Savannah stood there in jeans and a worn T-shirt with a faded logo from a rescue event, looking like home.

He rose and pressed a kiss to her lips, lingering longer than he meant to.

“You just getting in?” he asked, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.

She nodded. “Had a couple of pet-sitting jobs, so Sadie and I took a ride. Lucy’s at work. I just stopped by to grab some paperwork. You hungry?”

He shook his head and followed her inside. “I’m good. Just… tired.”

She glanced back, her brow furrowed. “Everything okay with Cody?”

He blew out a breath, the tension from earlier pressing at his temples. “You saw?”

She nodded and paused in the entryway, Sadie trotting toward her water bowl. “Yeah. The cameras caught some of it. He didn’t look good.”

Dylan stepped into the living room, raking a hand through his hair. “He’s not. No one knows how bad the shoulder is yet. Could be serious. He’s getting shut down for the season, at minimum. Which means… playoffs are a long shot now.”

She turned quickly, narrowing her gaze at him. “But does that really matter?”

He blinked at her. “The playoffs?”

She gave a tiny shrug. “Compared to his health.”

That question landed harder than he expected, like a fastball to the gut.

He let out a soft, bitter chuckle. “No. It doesn’t.

Not to me. But to the fans? The media? Management?

” He shook his head, then added quietly, “It’s all about the wins.

No one wants to hear that their ace pitcher might need surgery. ”

Her expression softened, and she motioned toward the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll grab what I need from the back.”

He settled onto the cushions, letting his body sink into the soft spot worn into the fabric. The scent of lavender and dog shampoo lingered faintly in the air. Savannah’s phone sat on the side table, next to a small machine with a blinking red light.

“Do you seriously still have an answering machine?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

Her voice floated in from the hallway. “Yeah, for the rescue. Some of our older donors still use it. I’ve been meaning to disconnect it, but the messages forward to my cell too. Can you check it? It could be an animal emergency.”

He hesitated, then reached over and pressed play.

A loud beep sounded, followed by a chipper male voice.

Hi, Savannah. Tom Clark from Pawsitively Pet Supplies.

Saw your picture with Dylan Prosser of the Knights.

I guess you’ve taken our suggestion about getting a spokesperson to heart, and I’m glad to see that.

Once you’ve signed him as your official spokesperson, let me know and we’ll finalize our agreement as your sponsor. You know where to find me.

The air in the room shifted.

Dylan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hand stilled on Sadie’s head mid-stroke.

The words echoed, each syllable hammering into his chest. His photo. A spokesperson. Finalize the agreement.

He sat frozen in place, the warmth from the dog beneath his hand suddenly feeling too hot, too heavy. His mind scrambled, flipping through every conversation, every moment with her—her reassurances, her insistence she didn’t want anything from him, her refusal to ask for help.

Except she hadn’t needed to ask. She’d planned this.

His heart squeezed painfully, not from anger—but from disappointment. Bone-deep disappointment. He had believed her. Had trusted her. Had told himself she was different. Not like the others, who used him for their gain.

But apparently, he was wrong.

He stared at the blank machine, bile rising in his throat. The ache inside him sharpened, betrayal cutting like a blade beneath the skin.

How could he have been so fucking stupid?

S avannah heard Tom’s voice crackle out of the answering machine from the hallway, and an icy shiver sliced down her spine.

Her feet carried her forward even as her gut twisted in protest, every step toward the living room weighted and reluctant, like a prisoner walking her last mile.

She turned the corner and stopped short.

Dylan sat rigid on the edge of the couch, head bowed, his shoulders taut with emotion. Sadie had half-climbed into his lap, whining, pawing at his chest like she could comfort him. But Dylan didn’t move. Didn’t stroke her back. Didn’t look up. The stillness in the room was deafening.

When he finally lifted his face to hers, the devastation in his eyes stole her breath. Raw. Gutted. Like something inside him had been torn apart.

“Dylan…” she whispered, voice catching.

He raised a hand, palm out, silencing her before she could say more. Then slowly, deliberately, he stood, dislodging Sadie, who circled his legs uncertainly, confused by the sudden tension.

“Is it true?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, as if dragged across gravel. “Did you make a deal with him… in exchange for using me as your spokesperson?”

Her stomach dropped, the question slicing deep, but she didn’t flinch from it. “Dylan, I can explain,” she said softly, reaching for him.

He recoiled, stepping back as if her touch burned. “Is. It. True?”

She flinched. “No. No, not like that. I didn’t agree to anything. Tom… he saw the picture of us online. He made assumptions. I never signed anything, I never?—”

“But you didn’t correct him either, did you?” he snapped. “You just let him believe it.”

“I didn’t think—” She trailed off, realizing too late how weak that sounded. Her hands twisted together at her waist, the tremble in her fingers a silent betrayal of the panic clawing at her throat.

“Did you set that up too?” His voice was tight, like it took everything in him not to shout. “Was that date just part of the act?”

Her breath caught. She took a step back, as if he’d slapped her. “How can you even ask me that?”

“I think you’d do just about anything for those dogs,” he said, pacing now, agitated energy radiating off him like a storm building. “You keep saying you don’t want help, but then you angle behind the scenes. Just like everyone else. Everyone always wants something.”

She blinked, tears rising fast. “I’m not everyone.”

“No?” He stopped mid-pace and turned on her. “You say you love your dogs. You said you cared about me. But you gave up Carl—Carl, who looked at you like you were his whole damn world. You let him go because you couldn’t commit. To him. Or to anyone.”

His words landed like blows. She stepped forward, shaking with fury and grief. “That’s bullshit,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “I loved that dog. I do love him. But this is what I do. I give them up so I can save more. It’s the only way the rescue survives.”

“And yet there’s no new dog here,” he said bitterly, looking around the empty room like it proved something.

“You didn’t bring another one in. You let Carl go and then sat here playing the martyr.

And now this—me. What, I was just the next tool in the toolbox?

A good photo op to push your sponsorships? ”

She slapped him. The sound echoed in the stunned silence that followed.

Her hand dropped, shaking, and the shock on his face mirrored the way she felt inside—violated, betrayed, shattered.

“How dare you?” Her voice trembled, but the words were steel.

“Don’t you dare stand there and accuse me of not loving him.

Or you. Don’t you dare. I gave him up because I had to.

Because if I didn’t, another dog would die.

That’s my reality, Dylan. I didn’t ask for it, but I live with it every damn day. ”

He looked away, jaw clenched, throat working as if he was swallowing down everything he wanted to say. “You sold me out.”

“I didn’t!” she cried. “Tom assumed. I never promised him anything. I never asked you for anything.”

“But you didn’t say no, did you?” he asked quietly, almost gently. That somehow cut the deepest. “You let him think it. You didn’t stop him. You used the perception, even if you didn’t use me directly.”

Her eyes burned, her voice barely above a whisper. “No. I didn’t stop him. But I never agreed. I would never sell you out.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out her key, holding it in his open palm.

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

His face was a mask of pain, jaw set, eyes shadowed. “Give me mine.”

With trembling fingers, she fumbled her keys from her pocket and slipped off his, the metal cold and unforgiving in her hand. She pressed it into his waiting palm. The moment felt final.

“I assume you didn’t make a copy,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t.”

He nodded once, then turned toward the door. “Goodbye, Savannah.”

“Dylan—”

“I wish this could’ve been different.”

The screen door banged behind him, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet house. Sadie hesitated for a beat, looking between them, then followed her master, tail low.

And then he was gone.

Savannah stood frozen for a long heartbeat. Then her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor. Her fingers curled into the rug, her breath hitching, and she buried her face in her hands as the sobs came, unrelenting and raw.

She cried until her throat burned, until her stomach cramped from the force of it. She cried like she hadn’t since she was a little girl—lost, broken, and completely, utterly alone.

S avannah curled up on the hardwood floor, clutching the blanket she’d been holding when Dylan walked out—when everything crumbled around her.

She buried her face in the soft, Sherpa-lined fabric and sobbed into it until her lungs burned, until her ribs ached with the force of it.

The room spun in a slow, sickening tilt around her, blurred by tears and panic and the overwhelming ache in her chest that wouldn’t let up.

She pressed her cheek against the leg of the chair, grounding herself in its worn upholstery, letting it cradle her like an anchor in the emotional storm.

Her fingers clenched the blanket tighter, as if it could hold her together, as if the softness could somehow make up for the arms that weren’t there. For the body that wasn’t coming.

She waited for Carl’s comforting weight, imagined the way he’d nudge her gently with that massive head, pushing under her arm like always when she cried. He hated when she cried. He always came to her, patient and steady, her quiet shadow. But he wasn’t coming this time.

Because she’d sent him away.

She had made the call, put him in the car, kissed his head, and told him it would be okay. Lied to him. Lied to herself. And now, he was gone. Dylan was gone. And she was alone—utterly, completely alone. As she had always been.

Time blurred into nothing. Minutes? Hours?

She couldn’t say. The sobs eventually slowed into jagged, broken hiccups, her chest rising and falling in a shallow, gasping rhythm.

Her entire face felt tight and raw, her eyes swollen and gritty, lashes sticking together with dried salt.

The blanket clung damply to her skin. She was freezing, chilled to the bone, even though the Georgia night clung warm and humid outside.

Her limbs felt leaden, fused to the earth, so she simply curled tighter into herself.

She reached up and tugged the cushion down from the chair, wedging it under her head, curling around it like a child.

Shivers wracked her, but she didn’t move, didn’t care.

Let the cold take her. Let the dark hold her. Maybe then the pain would ease.

The distant, familiar rattle of Lucy’s car broke the silence—the sputtering growl of its rusted muffler pulling into the driveway.

Savannah didn’t stir. Couldn’t. She had no energy to mask what she looked like, no strength to paste on a smile and pretend everything was fine.

She lay still, eyes closed, wet lashes clinging to her cheeks.

The door creaked open and then slammed shut. Lucy’s scent hit the air—booze, cigarette smoke, and vanilla body spray—and her footsteps stopped short.

“Vannie?” The alarm in her voice was sharp, slicing through the thick fog of Savannah’s thoughts. “Jesus, are you hurt? Should I call the cops?”

Savannah couldn’t even lift her head. She managed a small shake, her voice a cracked whisper. “No. Dylan and I… we broke up.”

Silence. Then Lucy was there, on the floor beside her, pulling her into her arms without hesitation, wrapping her in a grip that was solid and uncharacteristically gentle. Savannah collapsed against her, fresh tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“That was one hell of a breakup,” Lucy murmured, smoothing a hand down Savannah’s back. “What happened?”

Savannah opened her mouth, then closed it. The words were there, coiled tight in her throat, but she couldn’t force them out. The betrayal, the heartbreak, the shame—they tangled together like barbed wire, too painful to unpick. She shook her head, a whisper of a movement. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

Lucy didn’t push. Just rocked her slightly, the way she might’ve comforted a drunk girl in a bar bathroom. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

She helped her sit up, guiding her as if she were made of glass. “Let’s get you into bed. You need to sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

But Savannah knew she wouldn’t. Her heart felt like it had been yanked from her chest and trampled underfoot—bleeding and broken and irreparable. Dylan was gone. Carl was gone. And whatever faith she’d had that doing the right thing would lead to something good was gone, too.

She doubted anything would ever feel better again.