Page 9 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Six

D ylan stretched out in the locker room, legs extended and spine arched as he rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension from the last game.

The cool hush of the space and the faint hum of overhead lights gave him a rare moment of peace as he swiped through the pitching report on his tablet.

The video room had its uses, but there was something about having the data—charts, stats, footage—all at his fingertips that kept his brain sharper, more focused.

Since Lucas Wainright had taken over as president, the Knights had gone all-in on analytics.

Expanded scouting staff. A revamped data analysis team.

Reports so detailed he sometimes felt like he was drowning in numbers—but he couldn’t deny the value.

Not when it helped him keep one step ahead of the hitters and one mistake away from being benched.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, jarring him slightly. Dylan looked up to see Alex Rasmussen, that night’s starter, drop into the chair beside him like a sack of bricks.

“Getting an early start, Professor?”

Dylan gave a tight nod, eyes flicking back to the report. “Updated scouting came in this morning. Last time we played in California, half their starting lineup was on the DL. They’re back now. Hungry. They’re gunning for the division.”

“Great,” Alex muttered. “Just what I wanted to hear before throwing six innings.”

A soft ping interrupted them. Dylan tapped the alert without thinking—and froze.

The screen filled with an image of Sadie, sprawled across his bed like she owned it. One paw draped over his pillow. Her mouth was slightly open in what looked disturbingly like a smile.

His lips twitched, despite himself.

Alex leaned in, crowding him. “Whoa. Didn’t know you got a dog.

Is that a pit? I’ve got one too.” He scrolled through his phone, then held it up proudly.

“This is Thor. He’s a big goofball. That’s my niece on him.

She climbs all over him, and he barely moves.

Keeps her safe. Might be the trail of snacks she leaves everywhere, though. ”

Dylan smiled faintly, still eyeing Sadie’s picture. There was something disarmingly content in the way she looked on his bed. Like she finally believed she belonged somewhere.

He tapped the screen again, and a second photo appeared—a selfie. Savannah, in one of her snarky rescue t-shirts, hugging Sadie tight to her chest. Her smile was wide and unguarded, her messy ponytail falling over one shoulder. Sadie looked utterly serene. Dylan’s throat tightened.

“Hey now,” came Cody Patterson’s voice from behind them. “Looks like Professor Prosser got himself a girl and a dog. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Dylan stiffened, already dreading where this would go.

Cody leaned closer, whistling. “She’s hot, dude. Respect.”

Dylan growled low in his throat and jabbed at the screen, minimizing the photo with one swipe, cutting off any further ogling.

“You joining us for the hitters’ review?” he asked, tone clipped.

Cody shrugged. “Not pitching this series. Figured I’d hit the weights. Although…” He smirked. “Wouldn’t mind working out with her. Mind pulling that picture back up? For motivation?”

Dylan surged to his feet, fury igniting like dry timber. But before he could launch across the bench, Alex was there—his palm firm on Dylan’s chest.

“Patterson, shut up and hit the weight room before I knock your teeth in for him.”

Cody held up his hands, laughing, and sauntered away, cocky as ever.

Alex let out a breath and eased back into his seat. “He’s a punk, trying to get under your skin. And you let him. Again.”

“I’m not letting him disrespect her.” Dylan sat, jaw tight.

“He disrespects everyone . But he’s not pitching. He’s not even in the scouting review. Why do you care?”

“Because he’s wasting every opportunity this game is giving him. He’s late. He’s arrogant. He skips film.”

“So let him fail. You can’t carry the whole damn team, Dylan.”

“He’s not just the team’s future,” Dylan muttered. “He’s mine. My contract’s up. If I can’t work with him, show I can handle the staff?—”

“Then he drags you down with him,” Alex finished, nodding. “Look, man. You’re a hell of a catcher. We all know it. And you’re right—he needs guidance. But the two of you? You’re oil and water.”

Before Dylan could reply, another voice chimed in.

“You can’t send a dog like that to the shelter, man.” Nick Backus, their second baseman, leaned over the seat behind them, having caught part of the earlier conversation. “Not in this state. My wife works with a few rescues. The kill rate’s high. Especially for pits.”

Alex, now fully invested, turned the tablet back around and showed Sadie’s photo. A small crowd formed. A few oohs. A chorus of sympathetic groans.

“Looks like she found her forever home,” Nick said with a grin. “Who's the girl?”

“She runs a rescue,” Dylan said, already regretting bringing her up. “She’s watching the dog while we’re on the road.”

“And you’re thinking about not keeping that face?” someone asked.

“You heartless bastard,” another teammate joked. “That’s cold, Prosser.”

Dylan shot to his feet, exasperated. “Jesus Christ. What is this? Oprah’s Book Club? We’re grown-ass men, not a bunch of twelve-year-old girls.”

The guys just laughed and dispersed, tossing jabs and chuckles over their shoulders as they went. Only Alex stayed behind, chewing a handful of almonds like he had all the time in the world.

“You got a vet yet?”

Dylan blinked. “You’re still on this?”

“She was a stray, right? She needs a checkup. Shots. Parasite test. You know, the basics.”

“You sound like my sister,” Dylan muttered. “Next thing you’ll be suggesting I enroll her in kindergarten.”

Alex grinned. “Nah. But I will give you my vet’s number. He does house calls.”

Dylan snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little. Way less stress on the dog. And once she’s settled? I’ll bring Thor by. Sadie could use a playdate.”

Before Dylan could reply, Cody reappeared, sweaty and smug, collapsing into a chair like a man who’d just conquered Everest.

“You hens done clucking about daycare? Can we talk baseball now?”

Dylan’s mouth twitched—but this time, he didn’t rise to the bait. Maybe, just maybe, the kid was finally showing interest in more than his biceps.

He powered on the tablet again. Savannah’s face greeted him first, her smile beaming across the screen.

“Have mercy,” Cody said low. “I take it back. She’s not hot. She’s dangerous. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate either.”

Dylan took a breath, fingers tightening around the device before calmly clicking over to the scouting report. “Let’s look at the top of their lineup. Couple of new additions.”

One by one, the pitchers joined them. Laptops opened.

Notes were passed. Video clips were played and dissected.

And as the conversation turned toward pitch sequences and situational calls, Dylan felt the tension bleed from his shoulders.

He could still feel Savannah in his mind—her voice, her laugh—but for now, he let baseball take over.

This? This was where he belonged.

At least for now.

D ylan lay sprawled across the hotel bed, eyes closed, mentally walking through the lineup for that evening’s game.

He visualized each batter’s stance, their swing paths, the pitch sequences that might work against them.

This was his ritual, his reset. He’d done it since high school.

No noise. No distractions. Just baseball.

Until his phone buzzed on the nightstand and shattered the calm like a line drive to the gut.

He didn’t open his eyes—just reached blindly and dragged the phone to his chest. The screen lit up with an image of Sadie and Savannah, and any lingering game focus evaporated.

Sadie was on her back, belly exposed, her tongue lolling and eyes squinting in a way that could only be described as a smile.

Savannah knelt beside her, laughing, wind tugging at her hair, her arms wrapped around the squirming gray body.

The neckline of her shirt gaped as she leaned forward, offering Dylan an unfiltered view straight down to a chest that had been haunting his imagination for days.

He shifted on the bed with a groan. It had been way too long.

She was stunning—sun-kissed, natural, completely unaware of her own magnetism. There was something disarmingly real about her, the kind of woman who didn’t chase cameras or clout, who didn’t seem to give a damn about his status. That, in itself, was a novelty.

Most of the women in his orbit knew the stats before they met him—how many home runs he’d caught, what his salary was, who he’d dated.

They played the long game for a short-term prize: access, attention, sometimes a ring.

And when they realized Dylan wasn’t flashy or rich enough to be worth the effort, they moved on.

He’d learned early how to spot the sharks circling the pool.

Didn’t mean he hadn’t swum with them. He’d had his share—road trips made that easy. But those hookups were as empty as the hotel beds he kept returning to.

Being a starting catcher meant more than calling games—it meant leadership, discipline, constant grind.

The job required clarity, and chasing women dulled his focus.

He’d already decided to wait until after retirement to start thinking about real connection.

Settle down when the travel stopped. When the spotlight dimmed.

When someone might actually see him, not the jersey.

But Savannah Monroe saw people. She looked through them.

And damn, he wanted to be seen.

He studied the message beneath the photo.

Missing Daddy.