Gemotions

Michael slammed the list closed. His dad's handwriting, bold and slightly messy, stared back at him. "Ride a mechanical bull." He wanted to bury the list, to forget it existed. The man who'd spent his life meticulously managing spreadsheets, who flinched at rollercoasters, had wanted to ride a *bull*?

He could feel his ears burning. It was almost a physical ache in his chest. His dad, the picture of cautious stability, had fantasized about this? He sank onto the couch, the list still clutched in his sweaty hand.