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“I’d love that.” I hugged him.

He gave me some privacy and I changed into the ridiculous pajamas my parents had gotten me. The shirt had a huge light-up Rudolph on the front, but I love my parents, so I am willing to look like a goofball for them. I thought refusing it would cause more drama that I didn't need. I laid down and Nick snuggled up onto my pillow so I could put my head on his chest. He was mindlessly rubbing my hair.

“You sure you’re, okay?” I asked him. I was really asking if he was okay with Callie being engaged and he understood.

He looked down like he knew what I was asking. “You know?” He looked so surprised.

I sat up a little still looking at him. “Of course I know, Nick. You’re my best friend.” I laid back down on his chest, and he was quiet again.

He leaned back and put his head against my headboard. “I guess it’s too late now, huh? She will probably ask me to be a bridesman or something, and of course, I’ll do it because I would do anything for her. I will have to watch her—” he cut himself off. “Am I absolutely pathetic?”

“You’re not pathetic, Nick. You love her.”

He was quiet again for a few moments. “I think I always will,” he whispered.

We fell asleep lying like that, just comforting each other like we’ve done a million times.

A ding noise woke me up. I saw that my laptop screen was lit up. It was still open on my desk, so I walked over and started to close it, but hit refresh again, just in case.

My eyes widened. There it was—big, bold, black letters saying:

DNA RESULTS WITHIN

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It was a Christmas miracle. I hovered my finger over the mouse for a few seconds. I realized I didn’t want to be alone for this, so I called for Nick to get up. He groggily came over and sat on one of the chairs. I clicked the link and held my breath. It only took seconds to load, but it felt like forever. When the screen finally opened I let out an audible gasp. There it was. The name that was going to potentially change my life forever. August Foster.

Foster? Does that mean my name should have been Aubrey Foster? If he knew about me, would I have even been named Aubrey, or would he have hated it and wanted to name me something different?

What if he hates me?

What if he never wanted kids?

What if he’s dead?

All these questions were swirling around in my head. I wasn’t sure if the death date was on a DNA test, but there was a link to a family tree. I scrambled to look at all his info. “No death date,” I said aloud.

“That’s rather morbid,” Nick said as he laughed.

I shushed him. “I just meant, thank God, he’s not dead.”

He shook his head at me in disbelief. “He has a wife. No kids listed. That’s almost refreshing, but what if he never wanted them? Am I going to search for this man and possibly uproot his life?” I honestly wasn’t that sure I wanted to do this anymore. It was getting too real.

“Aubrey, you are spiraling. Relax.” He stood and grabbed my shoulders.

I kept reading more about him, and then the coincidence of all coincidences smacked me in the face. The current town that was listed for him was White Mountain, Tennessee. I was shocked; I couldn’t help but bring my hand to my mouth. “Nick,” I whispered.

“What?” He looked at the screen and then me, clearly confused. “What is it? I don’t get it.”

“Remember when we were on our Nashville trip? We were in the car and I had that stupid panic attack.” He nodded his head. “That’s the town, Nick. That’s…that’s where we were when my panic attack hap—". My words caught in my throat.

Nick looked shocked. “Are you sure, Aubs?”

“I’m positive. That can’t be connected, can it?” I put the laptop to the side and leaned onto my desk. Nick put his hand on my back but didn’t say anything. I looked back up at him.

“I have to do this. I can’t ignore it now, not with this huge sign smacking me in the face.”

He smiled. “I think you do or you will always wonder.”

I wasn’t sure how I was getting there, whether I would fly or drive, go alone or if someone was going with me, or even how long I would stay, but I knew I was going.

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