Of course that confidence fell somewhere into my stomach when I approached the security desk.

“Hi there, I’m Harper Maxwell with Brooklyn Lines.” I flashed him my badge.

“Closed for private practice.” He barked without so much as a glance.

“I know. I’m not here for the team, I’m actually here for the new wives' lounge that was built on the third floor.” I held up my camera. “Just want to snap my photos and be on my way.”

“You need to call ahead to get clearance.”

Oh well…you tried. Now run along, Harper.

I shut my eyes knowing Nic was right. Since my plan crashed and burned, I’d only made a bigger fool of myself and needed to do something.

“I am so very sorry, I realize that, but my article is due tomorrow and if I come in empty handed, I could lose my job.” I pleaded.

He drew in a breath. “Alright,” he reached in to give me a pass. “My shift is over in twenty minutes and this is only valid for the duration of my shift—so make it quick or you’ll have a hard time getting out of here. And you need to be out before the next guy comes in. Frank will have you hauled out of here without a second thought.”

“Twenty. Got it. I really appreciate it.” I started for the rink when the guard stopped me and pointed me to the opposite side of the building.

“Third floor lounge is that way.”

“That’s right,” I turned on my heel and began speed walking to the elevator until I was out of sight. The detour had me circling the entire damn stadium just to get to where I needed to be.

After what felt like a hell of a lot longer than twelve minutes, I reached the practice rink and scanned the area for him—but he wasn’t on the ice.

“Figured after yesterday’s game, you’d be getting all the practice you could get,” I muttered dryly.

I huffed and turned on my heel, in search of the locker room. Wishing I had stopped for a map of this place on my way in.

Lockers…where would the locker room be?

I checked my watch, having only seven minutes left to get out of the building before my pass expired. I’d wasted so much time forced to take the long way here, there was no way I’d get back in time.

And I honestly didn’t need more than, what, thirty seconds for a quick apology?

I needed to cut through the arena and hope the guard didn’t ask questions when I emerged from the wrong side.

Moving behind the bleachers, I ducked all the way across until something blocked my escape in the last row. I looked up.

Troy. He wasn’t in uniform, but he was wearing a jersey.

“Lost?”