Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Jessica’s POV

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I sat rigid in the passenger seat the entire ride back to college, my body a statue of silence, staring out at the blurring landscape as if it held some escape from the storm in my head.

Kennedy’s offer echoed relentlessly. His promises of power, revenge, a life rebuilt on my terms–all if I betrayed Aaron in ways I couldn’t even fathom. It was loud, insistent, a deafening noise drowning out every rational thought.

I wanted to scream, to let the wind rip the words from my throat and scatter them, but I couldn’t. Not with Aaron right there, his silence a constant, choking reminder of the mess I was in.

So I stayed frozen, watching the rough road slip by like time I couldn’t get back.

Aaron sighed beside me, the sound heavy in the quiet car. Then, his warm palm settled on my thigh.

A sudden, shocking jolt of raw electricity shot up my spine, freezing me in place, making my breath catch painfully in my throat.

“Jess,” he called gently, his voice soft but probing.

“You haven’t spoken to me since yesterday. What exactly happened back at my grandfather’s office?”

I met his question with total silence, my lips pressed tight.

Telling him the truth about the deal, the threats veiled as opportunities, the way Kennedy had dissected my life like a bug under glass–would only complicate things, and I was already drowning.

Worse, I was commanded to keep my mouth shut. I know Kennedy isn’t here, but for some terrifying reason, I feel he possesses some kind of supernatural sensor that would alert him the moment I spoke.

He hissed, a sound of deep frustration, and marched hard on the brakes.

The sudden, violent force sent me jolting forward against the seatbelt and screaming involuntarily.

I snapped my head toward him, and glared through wide eyes.

“You almost got us killed!”

His dark brown eyes just stared back at me, frustration swirling around them like a storm.

“At least it gets you to speak,” he retorted, his voice chillingly calm.

I rolled my eyes and looked away quickly.

“What’s your issue, Aaron? I just want to be alone, and it’s okay if I don’t want to speak.” I mumbled, my throat already closing up with unsaid grief.

My meeting with Kennedy wasn’t the sole reason for my silence; it was the sharp, vivid image of him emerging from the bar with Fiona clinging on his arm. And to top it all off, I couldn’t forget the constant, intense eye contact they’d shared during dinner.

I angrily wiped away a couple of stubborn tears that escaped my eyes.

I could feel Aaron’s gaze burning into the back of my head, but he didn’t push me further. He started the engine, and the car pulled forward again.

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Chapter 23

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The rest of the ride was a painfully quiet, thick blur. In the past, aron and I had argued plenty–living together meant clashes over everything from dishes to item placements, but these were quick, loud sparks.

We’d given each other the silent treatment before, but this silence was different.

It wasn’t empty; it was thick, suffocating, and heavy with accusation. It felt like a dense, emotional fog we were trapped in, where every single unspoken word just added a crushing, unbearable weight.

I rested my head against the cool window and closed my eyes, hoping sleep would pull me under, but it didn’t.

As if life wasn’t cruel to me already, my stomach suddenly let out a loud, embarrassing grumble–loud enough for Aaron to hear over the howling breeze.

My cheeks flamed up in immediate embarrassment, and I glanced down at my belly with a frown.

“You sure don’t know when to be noisy, do you?” I smacked it lightly.

I expected something from Aaron—a snicker, a snort, one of his teasing remarks that usually lightened the mood. But nothing came, and that stung more than any jab.

Well, I called for it, I thought grimly. I’d been giving him the cold shoulder since last night, dodging his attempts to talk.

Guilt twisted in my gut, but so did the hurt.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and looked away from him again.

Suddenly, the car slowed and pulled off the road.

I looked up to see we’d stopped at a bustling food truck spot that felt like a pop–up carnival. Colorful strings of lights draped between trucks, the air alive with the sizzle of grills and laughter from families clustered around picnic tables.

Vendors hawked everything from tacos to funnel cakes, the scents mingling into a mouthwatering haze: smoky barbecue, fresh popcorn, cinnamon sugar.

Kids darted between stalls, balloons bobbing like escaped dreams, and a live band strummed folksy tunes from a makeshift stage, giving the whole place a vibrant, chaotic joy that felt worlds away from my mood.

Aaron rolled down his window and leaned out toward one truck, run by a short, burly man with a big belly straining against his apron, a baseball hat perched backward on his head.

The guy was all smiles, cheerful as a cartoon character, wiping his hands on a rag as he greeted us.

“Evening, son! What can I get for ya?” the vendor asked Aaron with a huge, friendly smile.

“Yeah, a loaded chili dog with extra onions and cheese.” Aaron confirmed the order.

I froze instantly. The order was my secret comfort food–the exact dish I always craved and used to sneak out to buy after a truly awful day, but I had never once mentioned to him.

A bolt of pure surprise cut sharp and clean through the emotional fog in my brain. I stared at him, suddenly realizing he not only knew the specific order but had somehow figured out its significance.

The vendor laughed heartily, the sound vibrating the air around the truck.

“Comin‘ right up! This one’s a killer–my favorite too.” He pointed at his large gut with a confident wink.

“See this? My stomach walls are practically built from chili dogs! Keeps me goin‘ strong.. and happy!”

A genuine, small giggle broke free from my throat, unexpected and light, cutting the gloom.

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The vendor caught onto it, looked down, and peered into the ca

“Oh! It’s for your girlfriend!” He announced with a wide smile, piling the messy, steaming order onto a paper plate.

Girlfriend. The word echoed in my head, a bitter reminder.

The weekend was over. That term had expired. We were back to being roommates, colleagues in a fraudulent scheme.

I expected Aaron to deny it instantly, to set the record straight for the cheerful stranger, but he didn’t. He just took the plastic bag from the vendor, paid for a bottle of water, and added a generous tip.

Watching his easy kindness with the stranger made a new, complicated layer of feeling form in my chest.

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The vendor’s eyes lit up, and he thanked him profusely, pumping Aaron’s hand like they’d just sealed a deal. “You’re a good

man, son.”

He leaned in and winked at me. “You keep this one, sweetheart. You got yourself a good man.”

That simple, well–meaning sentence struck a raw nerve, twisting the knot in my gut. I just stared down at my lap, unable to meet the man’s gaze.

Aaron rolled the window up, and we continued our journey.

The car was thick with silence again, heavier now that he’d let the “girlfriend” title stand.

“Thank you,” I finally broke the quiet, my voice muffled. But he only met my statement with silence, and it hurt more than any argument could have.

I gently peeled off the lid of the paper bowl.

The fragrant steam of grilled sausage and melted cheese hit my nostrils, making my stomach growl in impatient anticipation. Luckily, he didn’t hear it this time.

I took a bite of the warm, flavorful bun and glanced at him. His expression remained utterly blank, his jaw set.

I sighed. “Wouldn’t you eat something?” I asked softly.

He shook his head once, a slight movement, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Tears stung my eyes again, illogical and painful.

Why is he the mad one? I’m the one supposed to be furious, right? I felt an overwhelming surge of guilt.

All appetite for the delicious food instantly disappeared, but thinking of how much he’d spent, I forced myself to chew.

After a few more bites, I impulsively pushed the half eaten chili dog toward his mouth.

He gently swatted my hand away, never taking his eyes from the road.

I would rather he had yelled at me, or pushed me with extreme force. Somehow, his utter stillness, his calmness, and his silent hurt were infinitely worse.