Page 133 of End Game

To her shame, Kayla realized that she didn’t know much about colon cancer. But she knew stage four was bad. Really bad. Terminal bad.

“Mama, no.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The tired eyes, the weight loss, the lack of appetite. Why hadn’t she added it all up before now? The clues were there, and she’d dismissed them. Blamed them on fatigue and stress. If she’d been paying better attention, maybe they could have caught the cancer before it metastasized to other parts of her mother’s body.

Kayla sat next to her mother, held her hands. “I’m the one who should apologize. I assumed your heavy schedule was the cause of your exhaustion and changes in physical appearance.”

“I fed your assumptions. It’s not your fault.”

“Why?”

“I needed to get second and third opinions, needed to speak with your father. Needed to wrap my own head around the illness so I could be strong when the time came to prepare everyone around me.”

Tears ran freely down Kayla’s cheeks as she dropped to her knees and folded her arms around Jillian. She buried her face in her mother’s hair, inhaled her familiar shampoo-y scent. “All you need to focus on is your health.”

Elsie took the moment to poke and stab. “How relieved you must be, Jill, for this opportunity.” She gestured to the tainted wine. “This act of kindness.”

“Kindness,” Kayla sputtered.

“Months of pain and suffering reduced to minutes, seconds, even.”

When her mother said nothing, Kayla eased away and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. Eyes of acceptance.

“No, Mama. No, no, no. You will not give up. I won’t let you.”

“I won’t be the only one suffering through months of treatments that will only forestall the inevitable. You, Gordon, Harper—you will all feel the pain right along with me.”

“A small, very small price to pay to have more time with you.”

“Even if the time is spent in hospitals and treatment centers?” Jillian shook her head. “I don’t want that for you. For us.”

“Mama—”

“Take heart, Kayla,” Elsie said, impatient. “You enjoyed two moms for the first third of your life. Many don’t even get one.”

The tension in Kayla’s head ratcheted until she was certain her eyes would explode. She transferred her full attention to the monstrous stranger. “Until you killed Vicky.”

“Technically, Sybil ordered the hit on Victoria?—”

Kayla launched herself at Elsie. “You killed her! You killed my godmother. Your friend!”

She slammed the heel of her hand into the woman’s forehead. “How does that feel? Hurt? It’s nothing compared to being shot in the head.”

She hit her again. And again.

Marco grabbed both of Kayla’s upper arms and flung her to the side. She flew across the room and crashed into a four-foot-tall pedestal holding a large potted aloe.

The spiny plant teetered, and Kayla attempted to roll away. But the hard landing had stolen her breath, and all her energy was consumed with jumpstarting her breathing again.

When the plant lost its battle with gravity, she braced herself for impact, already anticipating the excruciating crunch as her ribs gave way to the heavy ceramic planter.

A flash of red silk and dark hair rushed forward.

Jillian dove for the container, shoving it in an attempt to change its trajectory. But she miscalculated the speed of the falling planter—and the location of Kayla’s left foot. Those two elements combined sent Jillian plowing headfirst into the unforgiving ceramic.

Kayla heard a dull thunk seconds before Jillian crashed to the ground. One of her mother’s knees jabbed into her stomach, sucking what little air she’d scrounged up right out of her lungs.

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