Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 201

Adrian’s POV

My mother arrives for dinner the evening before my bachelor party, carrying a bottle of expensive scotch and wearing that expression mothers get when they want to have A Talk.

Sophie is putting Amelia down for the night, which leaves Mom and me alone in the living room with the scotch and an uncomfortable amount of maternal scrutiny.

"So," she says, pouring us each two fingers. "How are you really feeling about becoming a husband?"

The question is simple, but the weight behind it is enormous. I take the glass she offers, buying time with a sip before answering honestly.

"I never thought this would be my life," I admit, the scotch warming my throat. "Marriage, fatherhood, family—these always seemed like things other people did. Normal people with normal childhoods and healthy relationship models."

Mom settles into the armchair across from me, waiting for me to continue. She's good at that—creating space for difficult conversations without pushing.

"I watched my father's marriage. It was cold, transactional, you were more trophy than partner in it. "

I continue, staring into the amber liquid.

"Every interaction was calculated, every gesture measured for maximum strategic impact. There was no warmth, no genuine affection. Just two people existing in the same house, playing their assigned roles."

"And you assumed you'd be like him," Mom says quietly.

"I assumed I was like him. For years I convinced myself I was incapable of anything better. That whatever damage my father inflicted, whatever patterns he modeled—they were already coded into me. Permanent. Unchangeable."

I take another drink, remembering the man I was before Sophie: controlled, emotionally walled off. Using relationships as transactions, never letting anyone close enough to matter.

"Then Sophie walked into my lecture hall and everything unraveled. She was brilliant and stubborn and completely unwilling to let me hide behind my professor persona."

I say, and despite everything, I can't help but smile at the memory.

"She saw through every defense I'd spent years perfecting. And somehow, despite seeing all of it, despite knowing exactly what kind of damaged, complicated mess I was, she kept choosing me."

"She still is," Mom points out gently.

"She is. And in eight days, I'm legally binding myself to her. Promising forever when I've never been particularly good at permanence. The terror is real, Mom."

I turn to face her.

"What if I revert to my father's patterns? What if I wake up one day and realize I've become exactly what I swore I'd never be—cold, controlling, using the people I love as chess pieces instead of actual human beings?"

My mother leans forward, her expression serious but kind.

"Your father made choices every day to be the way he was. Every morning he woke up and chose control over connection. Chose manipulation over honesty. Chose power over partnership. Those were active decisions, Adrian, not inevitable destiny."

"But what if those choices are in my DNA? What if…"

"You're making different choices," she interrupts firmly. "Every day. You've been honest with Sophie about your past—painfully honest, from what I understand. You're present with Amelia in ways your father never was with you. You're trying, actively trying, to build something better."

The words settle over me, and I want to believe them, want to trust that effort matters, that choosing differently is enough.

"The wedding isn't just about marrying Sophie," Mom continues. "It's about committing to the person you've been trying to become since you met her. The version of yourself that wants to be better, do better, break the patterns instead of perpetuating them."

I nod, absorbing this. Outside, I hear Sophie's footsteps in the hallway—she must have gotten Amelia down. The sound of her presence, knowing she's here, solid and real—it steadies something in me.

"What's your biggest fear?" Mom asks. "Really. If you strip away all the philosophy and the family history, what terrifies you most about this?"

The answer comes immediately, raw and honest.

"That I'll fail her, fail Amelia. That I'll try my hardest to be what they deserve and it still won't be enough. That the damage my father inflicted goes too deep to overcome, and I'll end up hurting the people I love most despite my best intentions."

Mom’s response is immediate and pragmatic in a way that's oddly comforting.

"You will fail sometimes. Every husband does, every father does. You'll make mistakes, you'll say the wrong thing, handle situations poorly, let your control issues override your better judgment. That's guaranteed."

"That's not particularly reassuring," I say dryly.

"The question isn't whether you'll fail, but what you'll do when you fail."

She continues, ignoring my interruption.

"Will you stay and repair? Apologize? Learn? Adjust? Or will you run the way you ran when Sophie was pregnant, the way your father ran from any real emotional vulnerability?"

The comparison to my disappearance stings, but it's fair. I did run. When everything got too real, too overwhelming, I abandoned her. It's the decision I regret most, the one that nearly cost me everything.

"I'll stay," I say, and the certainty in my voice surprises even me. "Always. That's my answer. I'll fail, probably often, but I'll stay and try to fix it. I won't run again."

Mom smiles, real warmth in her expression. "Then you're already better than your father. He never stayed for anything difficult. The first sign of real emotion, real vulnerability—he'd shut down or disappear into work or find some other way to avoid actual connection."

Sophie appears in the doorway then, hesitating when she sees us deep in conversation. "Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," Mom says, standing. "I should get going anyway. Tomorrow's a lot to handle for the wedding, and you both need your rest."

She hugs me tightly, whispering in my ear: "You're going to be fine. Better than fine. You're choosing love, Adrian. That's always the right choice."

After she leaves, Sophie and I clean up the dinner dishes together in comfortable silence.

She asks how I'm feeling about tomorrow, and I give her the expected answers—excited, a little nervous, ready for some time with the guys. All true, but not the whole truth.

Later, after Sophie's asleep, I pour myself another whiskey and sit in the study, thinking about the bachelor party tomorrow, the wedding in eight days, the entire future stretching ahead.

The apartment is quiet except for the soft sounds of Sophie and Amelia sleeping down the hall.

I'm terrified. Genuinely terrified of becoming a husband, of promising forever, of being responsible for these two humans who deserve so much better than the broken man I sometimes still feel like.

But I'm also thrilled, excited in a way I didn't know I was capable of feeling.

Because Sophie keeps choosing me. Because Amelia's tiny hand grips my finger with complete trust. Because I have a chance to build something better than what I came from.

I never thought I'd be this person—nervous groom, committed partner, father actively trying to break generational patterns. I spent years convinced I was too damaged for normal happiness, too much my father's son to deserve anything soft or real.

But here I am. And I don't want to be anywhere else.

Eight days until I marry Sophie Hale. Eight days until I promise forever in front of everyone who matters. Eight days until I prove to myself, to her, to everyone who doubted us, that I can be more than my father's legacy.

I finish my whiskey and head to bed, sliding in carefully beside Sophie without waking her. Her warmth anchors me, reminds me why I'm doing this, why it's all worth it.