The Game Changer

by Megan Ryder

  The Game Changer

  A Knights of Passion Romance

  Megan Ryder

  The Game Changer

  Copyright © 2017 Megan Ryder

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-945879-75-3

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all of the animal rescuers out there working so hard to save animals everywhere. So many of them toil in the background, underfunded, dealing with the most horrific cases of abuse that we can barely imagine. Yet, when I interviewed them for this book, every one of them said they would do it again and again because of the unconditional love the animals gave them. They speak for those who can’t speak for themselves and I am truly grateful for all they do. Thank you especially for Jennifer Wemmell of Little Feet, Big Heart Rescue who answered so many questions often very late at night and who’s big guy inspired Carl. And Audrey from Another Chance for Animals who patiently answered all of my questions about fundraising and organizations. And Kelly Eadon who connected me with so many other groups.

  Lastly, I dedicate this to my Josie, my own rescue dog, who was with me in spirit as I wrote Sadie. Rest in peace sweetheart.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  The Knights of Passion Series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “You know I didn’t mean to miss your big game intentionally, right, Dylan?”

  Dylan Prosser shifted the cell phone from one ear to the other as he took a bite of his grinder, elbow firmly planted on the napkin ruffling in the slight breeze. A low whine from the woods several yards away made him look up at a small gray and white dog lying on the edge of the woods, staring intently at him, poised to bolt as if the slightest movement would trigger her to flee. People really should leash their pets. If he kept seeing her around, he’d call animal control and let them deal with it. No animal should be neglected as she clearly had been. Even from this distance, he could see cuts and scars across her muzzle and the ribs showing on her body indicating that she’d been on her own a while and not eating well.

  “Dylan? You believe me, right?” His sister’s plaintive voice irritated him even over the phone line.

  There was a time when she followed him around like a lost puppy, five years younger than he, always trying to be like her big brother. Then their mother had realized that Lindsey was cute and liked to act, then it was beauty pageants and casting calls and bit parts until she was discovered and became the lead in a young teen show.

  “So, the reports of you spending the night in jail for a DUI had nothing to do with missing the home run derby?” The silence on the other end confirmed his suspicions and he sighed. “Lindsey, I’m worried about you.”

  “Back off, Dylan.” Irritation lent an edge to his normally ebullient sister’s voice. “The charges were dropped. I wasn’t drunk, just had a few drinks. I just couldn’t get a hold of mom. She was with her new boyfriend or something.”

  He frowned. “I was in town. Why didn’t you call me or dad?”

  She laughed, a brittle sound. “You were hitting home runs at the derby and I’m sure dad was bent out of shape not being the center of attention, probably in no condition himself to be driving to the police station. I didn’t need him locked up next to me.”

  Remembering his father’s irritation and the smell of alcohol that clung to him like a cheap suit, Dylan took another bite of his grinder. A louder whine drew his attention to the clearing. The dog had crept closer to him on her belly, about ten yards away, hunger clearly overcoming her fear of him. She licked her lips and fixed him with a hopeful stare, as if she could mesmerize him into giving her some meat.

  “What’s that noise, Dylan? Did you get a dog? You did!” Her squeal almost deafened him and he jerked the phone away from his ear as she continued to talk. Even the dog jumped, but her hunger still overcame her fear. “What kind of dog did you get? What’s his name? Send me a picture!”

  “Calm down. I didn’t get a dog. It’s just some stray that’s been hanging around for a few days. And I’m pretty sure he is a she. I was about to call animal control when you called.”

  “Send me a picture.”

  He sighed and snapped a quick picture and sent it. “Satisfied?”

  “The poor sweet puppy! She looks hungry. You’re feeding her, aren’t you? She looks like Sadie. Remember Sadie, the dog you found when dad played in Seattle? She followed you everywhere. Whatever happened to her?”

  His jaw tightened at the memory. As usual, everyone had to give up what they wanted when his father had been traded. That was the year Dylan’s little league team was going to playoffs. Instead of staying in the Seattle area until the playoffs were done as promised, his father insisted the family had to move immediately with him when he was traded because they were a team. Sadie was only one consequence of the trade, dropped off at animal control for an unknown fate. Dylan hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye. He had come home from school to an empty house, Sadie gone, and everything packed in boxes stacked in the hall. Promises that he could stay for the playoffs, that Sadie could come with them, all casualties to his father’s demands.

  Funny how the team only existed for his father. It never went back the other way until Lindsey got her hit show, then his father’s resentment shone through, irritated by the fact that someone’s star rose higher than his own. Their parents split at that point, with Lindsey and Dylan’s mother headed to California for the shooting and Dylan on his own at college. By the time Dylan was drafted, his father was out of the league and hitching his wagon to Dylan, hoping to ride him to a position in the big leagues. Fortunately, Dylan wasn’t a big enough star yet for that and his father began to drift, showing up when he needed money or when Dylan was on stage, like at the Home Run Derby or at the All-Star Game.

  Just thinking about that night two days ago made Dylan cringe and lose his appetite.

  He tossed the half-eaten grinder on the plate. “What do you think happened to Sadie? The same thing that happened every time dad got traded. Lindsey, I have to get to the stadium. But I’m worried ab
out you.”

  She laughed, a little too gaily, a little too forced. “What do you mean, Dylan? Everything’s great!”

  “Drinking? Getting arrested? You’re partying a little too much.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read. You should know that. Just because you’re Mister Clean doesn’t mean the rest of us are happy sitting at home night after night. I’m just blowing off steam. I’m fine.”

  He frowned but let it go. “Fine, but Lindsey? If you need me, you know I’d be there, right?”

  She sobered. “I know. And think about keeping that dog! You need someone.”

  He snorted. The last thing he needed was a dog or any person hanging around his life. No way would he ever be like his father, dragging everyone around with him, demanding they exist solely for his benefit. Dylan traveled too much for it to be fair to any animal. Another whine made him turn and see the dog now just a few yards away, a hopeful look on her gray face with the splash of white under the muzzle, the longing tugging at his heartstrings. His watch dinged, reminding him of the evening game. He glanced at his plate and the dog. He tossed the sandwich to her and she gulped it in two bites.

  “Now go home.”

  He headed into the house to grab his keys and go to the stadium. Backing out of his garage, he noted the dark rain clouds and the dog in her usual position in the woods. He stopped the garage door from closing, about two feet from the ground. He’d probably get some other wild critters like a skunk or a possum in there but maybe the dog would appreciate laying in that pile of blankets he had left in the corner if it rained. He’d deal with her tomorrow. If she was still there.

  The first game back after the All-Star break was always a mixed bag. Some of the players had a few days off and were either off the wall with pent-up energy or sluggish with too much rest. Then there were the guys who had to play through the break, attending the All-Star game. It was an honor, sure, but attending the game was often more work than the regular season, with more ceremonial events and a lot more sitting around at the banquets, the Home Run Derby and the game. The three days were exhausting and, for a catcher like him, who could use the break, the honor just didn’t quite outweigh the desire to relax.

  His headlights highlighted the new road heading to his house on the cul-de-sac in the new development outside Savannah. He loved the location of the house and bought it basically sight unseen as soon as he had heard there were few neighbors in this new development, since construction had almost halted due to the slow economy. He liked his space and the quiet, with the woods bordering his backyard and open grass around him. Being around people all day long, players and fans and staff, gave him a desperate need for space and alone time. He could breathe out here, relax.

  As he pulled in the driveway, lights flashed on his white house and the partially open garage door. The driveway was wet from the heavy rain that had canceled the evening game earlier that night, puddles pooling in a few spots but the lights were still on so that was a plus. He hated losing power, especially in a new place. Living in Minnesota, his last home, he lost power constantly. And it was damn cold up there. He clicked the garage door opener and, as it started to rise, a pair of glowing eyes were revealed curled in the blankets. Within moments, the little dog from the woods was illuminated completely and not the skunk or other critters he had feared.

  He stopped the car, curled his hands around the steering wheel and sighed. “Well, damn. I guess you did come in from the night terrors. Now what to do with you.”

  Chapter Two

  Why, when she had places to be, did her dogs decide to be difficult about pooping and insist on sniffing every corner of the yard? Savannah Monroe stood in the gate of her postage-stamp fenced in yard, hands planted on her hips and whistled loudly for the dogs, who did their best impression of being deaf. She clapped her hands together, creating a thunderous sound, and immediately, Carl, her large blue pittie cowered.

  “Shit.” She strode across the yard, which was more dirt than lawn after all the dogs had peed and killed the grass, and knelt next to the shivering dog.

  “I’m so sorry, Carl,” she crooned and patted his head, pulling him half onto her lap and snuggling him.

  Not for the first time, she cursed whoever had abused and abandoned the poor dog. He was a large breed, around a hundred pounds easily, scaring most of the shelter staff and potential adopters, who were afraid of large pit bulls and their fearsome, and mostly inaccurate, reputation. Carl was a gentle, gray marshmallow, more apt to roll over and show his belly than bare his teeth and bite. Her little terrorist, the Jack Russell terrier mix, Morgan, ruled the large beast easily the minute he had come into her home as a sick dog. Now Carl was well and ready to move on, along with Morgan and the others at her rescue’s frequent adoption events. If only she could be confident that Carl would go to the right home.

  The other dogs crowded around her, Morgan crawling under her arms to get closer to Carl, her special friend, and they sat there in the yard for several long minutes, until the large dog’s tremors passed. The five dogs scattered, did their business as if they knew her patience was at the end, and she bundled them into the house, crating a couple of the dogs who required more supervision, and finally left, almost an hour late, to start her day.

  Several hours later, after three home visitations at three of her foster homes and a stop to buy dog food, stretching her already tight budget, she pulled into the local animal shelter for her weekly pass-through of the at-risk dogs. She killed the engine and sat back in the seat of her ten-year old Suburban, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The sound of dogs barking echoed in the country, penetrating even the closed windows, squeezing her heart. She both hated and loved this part of the job. She loved being able to save a dog and give him a new life, but she hated seeing all the dogs being left behind, the despair, the sadness, the confusion. Many of them had no idea why they were there. At one time, they had been part of the family, maybe sleeping on a couch, or a dog bed, but then they were taken for a ride and left somewhere, out in a field, by the side of the road, or at the place full of concrete and scared, barking dogs, never to see their beloved families again. It was heartbreaking.

  Some days she didn’t know if she could do it one more day. Then she thought about the dogs she had saved, how much that one day had meant to them, and she dragged herself down here again to put herself through the pain all over again. She sucked in a deep breath and steeled her heart, sternly cautioning herself to keep to the list, to her guidelines for pulling dogs, and she got out of the SUV.

  “Hey, Savannah. Wondered how long you’d sit out there today.” Sara Malone nodded at Savannah from behind the desk, Sara’s eyes reflecting the weariness Savannah knew was in her own. “We have a few new dogs for you to look at. We’re full up so anything you can do would be much appreciated.”

  Savannah nodded, heart clenching anew. “Do you have the intake forms for me to look at? I’ll take them out to the exercise pen and evaluate them.”

  “I’ll give you a hand when I can.”

  Savannah worked steadily for the next couple of hours, first evaluating each of the dogs in their runs, then taking them one by one into the exercise area and testing their temperament to see their adoptability. She hated having to do this, believing that all dogs deserved a chance at life, at rehabilitation, but she couldn’t afford to keep dogs indefinitely, especially ones who were never going to be adoptable, unlike some rescues. And so she had to make decisions based on space and give the dogs who had the best chance, their shot at a home.

  Sara met her in the exercise pen where Savannah was watching a skittish dog of indeterminate breed, who was cowering in the corner, snarling if she moved too close. “How much time does he have?”

  “You know our policy. He’s too aggressive, Savannah. Maybe if we had more time, more room, trainers, we could work with him. But he bit one volunteer and almost bit me this morning. He was brought in for biting a child and attacking a cat.” Sara laid
a hand on Savannah’s shoulder. “You weren’t supposed to be evaluating him.”

  “I had to try.” Her voice was small, broken, much as her heart was.

  “I know, sweetie. We can’t save them all.”

  “We should be able to. They deserve so much more.” Savannah drew in a deep, shuddering breath, gathering her strength. “I know you’re right. He’s too damaged. Clearly, he’s been a fighting dog.”

  “Or a bait dog. Look at his scars. The poor dog has been through hell. We can’t help him but we can give him peace. We’ve seen too many of them recently. I think a new dog fighting ring has started up around somewhere.”

  Savannah swore softly. “There’s a special place in hell for people who fight dogs.” She studied the dog who pressed his face against the fence, sniffing the free air. “He likes being out here. Can we leave him out here for a while? So he’s not in a cage? Not exactly at least.”

  Sara nodded and walked back into the main part of the shelter building. “What did you think of the others?”

  “I have a few dogs ready to be adopted this week. I can take three by Friday. I checked with the fosters. Can you keep these three for me?”

  Sara glanced at the three folders and nodded. “I can try. If someone wants to adopt them, I have to let them. Can you afford to pull three? Even waiving the adoption fee, they’re going to need vet care.”

  Savannah’s shoulders slumped. Damn. Between her day job and the rescue, she just about got home and tumbled into bed, so exhausted at the end of every day. She was lucky. Georgia waived adoption fees for official rescues but these three dogs were going to easily cost her over three hundred dollars in the initial vet visit fees alone, assuming they found nothing seriously wrong, never mind food and special needs.

  “We should be okay, Sara. We’re working on some new fundraising ideas. Any news on the old shelter site out on the old maintenance facility?”