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“Conquer a bull outside the arena. Which, as you know, worked out fine in the end. Though, admittedly, I was sweating that one for months. Wasn’t exactly sure how I was supposed to conquer Charles. Turns out I needed the proper motivation.”
I surge to my feet. “Are you kidding me? Case! What were you thinking?”
He remains sitting and shrugs. “In all sincerity, Win, I was looking tofeel something, and fuck if it didn’t work. But also, I wasn’t thinking. For the first time in my life, I didn’t think something through, I just acted—and thank Jesus I did, or maybe things would have ended a little differently. So let’s drop it.”
It’s as if we’re the only two on the porch. I’m alarmed at how shaken I feel at the memory of Case in front of that bull.
He gets to his feet and reaches for my shoulders, so I am forced to look him in his eyes. “It was reckless. One hundred percent Walker and not at all me. It’s notmylist; I didn’t write it. I wouldn’t do something like that normally, and I’ll never be repeating it, because it scared the shit out of me. But I did it and it’s done, and it worked out for the best, and neither Garrett nor I died in the process.”
“Where’s the list?”
His brows draw together. “What?”
“Do you have it still? Is it inside? Go get the list,” I demand. “I wanna see it.”
His arms drop, and he exhales. After a beat, he seems to notice the curious stares of our friends and makes a decision. “Okay, follow me.”
I’ve never been inside the big house before. From the outside,I knew it was luxe. Tiered landscaping with plenty of fancy lighting and pretty furniture. There’s an in-ground pool and one of those outside kitchen patios. Some nights in the winter, when it gets dark early and I work late, I see it all lit up, softly glowing, and it is like something out of a romance movie.
But none of that prepared me for theinsideof Case’s home. The foyer (because he has a whole-ass foyer) is paved in soothing sandstone and white marble. The ceilings pitch to a high point with open skylights and are accentuated with enormous wooden beams. There’s a massive stone fireplace with a cowhide spread before it, bookended by giant squashy leather couches. In fact, everything is big and imposing and clean. We pass the kitchen, where Kerry is stirring something that smells delicious on the stove. She’s small, but she looks miniscule in the sprawling space. My entire trailer would fit in here. Garrett’s and my room is the size of his pantry, easily.
Case grabs my hand, interrupting my gawking, and tugs me up the stairs. “Just grabbing something, Kerry!” he yells over his shoulder.
He walks through the landing to where it splits in opposite directions, then turns right. I follow, catching a glimpse of a photo of a beautiful woman I don’t recognize holding a baby, standing next to a young version of Case’s dad. This must be his mom. I have no idea what happened to Case’s mom except that Mr. Michaels is a widower.
“Is that your mom?”
Case stops at the door he was about to open and walks back. “Oh yeah. That’s Mom. With me and mydad. She died a few months after. That picture, right there”—he points, tracing the lines of her lovely smile—“sums up about all I know about her.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
He looks genuinely unbothered. “It’s okay. She died of an aneurysm in her sleep. Kerry’s been taking care of me ever since.”
I focus my attention on the old photo, not meeting his eyes. “My mom left us after Garrett was born. I was nine, so I remember some stuff about her, but I think I’ve blocked most of it out. But Garrett and Jesse? They have zero memories.”
“You haven’t seen her since?”
“Nope,” I say, popping thep. “She left to get cigarettes after coming home from the hospital and presumably never looked back. I don’t know if it was the baby blues or what.”
He grimaces. “I’m sorry, too, then. That’s awful.”
“Good riddance,” I say and mean it. I turn to him. “So. The list?”
“Right.” He leads me into his bedroom and immediately heads for a large desk situated in front of his window. I try not to look like I’m memorizing the details of his room. The unmade and rumpled California king. The pile of familiar clothes in front of a walk-in closet. The collection of gold rodeo buckles and trophies lining his dresser. A framed photo of him and Walker.
Case holds a paper in front of him, but when I grab for it, he swipes it away. “Before you read it, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“You need to remember Walker made this list. Without me knowing.”
“Right.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, pulling the short sleeves of his T-shirt distractingly tight across his shoulders and biceps. “And for a long time, I assumed it was for him, like he said. Stuff he’d never gotten to do. A bucket list, you know?” I nod. He continues. “But then Pax told meyouknew Walker.”
I blink, confused. “Oh. Yeah. Kinda. I mean, we were friends. He would talk to me here at the ranch while I worked sometimes. And if he saw me sitting alone at school lunch, he’d keep me company. I liked him a lot. He was a good guy.”
Case nods. “The best. He was the best guy. So, remember that when you see this, okay?” He hands me the folded piece of notebook paper.
