No Coincidence

They Don't Know About Us

 It was a total coincidence that Niall and Brynn wound up on headlines a couple days later.

Brynn was at work, in the middle of consulting a client about decorating her restaurant, when her phone went off. Frank Sinatra's voice filled the air, begging her to come fly with him, and she stared at the phone in shock. She told Niall not to call unless it was life-or-death. He’d better have an excellent reason for calling her.

"I'm sorry," she said to the woman. "But I really have to take this."

"Go ahead,” she insisted.

She took the call. "Niall, what's wrong?"

"Uh, Brynn? It's me," Harry's voice said. "There was an accident at rehearsal. Niall's been rushed to hospital."

"What?! What happened?!"

"He uh, tore is meniscus or something. We just really need you down here."

"I can't just leave work,” she hissed. “Is this a life-or-death situation?

"No. But, he's asking for you."

Fuck. He knew how to tug her heartstrings, that was for sure. She sighed. "Let me see if I can leave. Give me a bit. What hospital are you guys in?"

Harry told her and she hung up, turning back to her client. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Anwar, but my boyfriend tore his meniscus."

"I understand completely," she said with a gentle smile. "We can reschedule. Tomorrow? Same time?"

"Please. Again, I'm so sorry,” Brynn said, standing and grabbing her coat and bag.

"And, again, it's fine."

"Alright, I'm here," Brynn said, somewhat irritably as she walked into the exam room.

"He needs surgery," Liam told her as he filled out the papers. Niall was lying unconscious on the bed. Liam was in the hard-looking chair beside him. Niall‘s knee was in some sort of brace. "We're going to have to delay the tour,” Liam continued. “And even then, he's going to have to stay still on stage."

"How did he tear it?" Brynn asked.

"We fell, Zayn landed on him wrong. Rip."

"I said I was sorry," Zayn said, coming in with a drink holder and four cups from McDonald's. "He was high enough to forgive me."

"He's high?" Brynn asked, her voice laced with shock as Zayn handed her a diet Coke.

"Well, he's on enough painkillers that -- medically speaking -- he's high," a guy said, walking in. He had on scrubs and a nametag that read "Dr. Hastings, Ryan." He was certainly not unattractive. Blond hair, blue eyes -- and he was American. She almost cried at hearing the familiar accent.

"The first date we can schedule him for surgery is this Friday," Dr. Hastings said as Zayn gave Liam his drink and put one aside for Niall when he woke. "But until then, he's going to have to wear this brace and use crutches. Basic sprain rules apply, keep his foot elevated, keep it iced."

"You want us to alternate with heat?" Brynn inquired, eager to hear him talk more.

Dr. Hastings' hand stilled and he looked up at her, shocked. "Sorry, I don't think we've met." He extended his hand out to her. "I'm Ryan."

She shook his hand. "Brynn."

"What brings you to the UK?"

"Work," she replied.

"Story of my life. Five year visa?"

"Five year visa," she confirmed. Ryan gave her a sympathetic smile before he turned back to the chart. "Yeah, you need to alternate with heat. Don't try to work out the pain though -- that'll only exacerbate the tear. I'll write him an order for painkillers you can get down in the pharmacy." He tore of a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Call me if you need anything. My direct line is right there."