Page 29 of Battle Scars

“Welcome, welcome,” she says.

“Thanks for having us,” Dad replies.

“Gladly. So should we get to it?”

“After you,” Dad says, charming her with his smile. There’s a reason he’s been married so many times. He’s a handsome guy.

“Tell me what it’s like to be the record-holding champion,” she prompts, pulling an endearing laugh from him.

“It’s pretty awesome. I’m not sure I’d be as happy if my life had led me down a different path,” he answers.

“And how many races have you won?”

“One hundred and sixty-three.”

“Wow!” She laughs. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s a combo of hard work and luck, nothing else,” Dad says modestly.

Then she turns to look at me. “What’s it like trying to live up to that kind of legacy?”

“It’s pretty awesome and it can also be pretty intimidating,” I answer honestly. “No one has ever come close to his record before.”

“There have been a couple of drivers that came pretty damn close,” Dad says with pride. “Most of them are retired and now I’m retiring. I guess it’s time to see what the next generation can do.”

“And what a generation it is,” Kimber says. “What kind of pressure do you feel trying to fill his shoes?”

“Well, I’m not sure anyone can fill my dad’s shoes,” I say with a shrug. “I mean, he’s pretty awesome, so yeah, there’s pressure. Not from Dad, but from me. Dark Horse Racing is my family legacy; it’s a lot to live up to, and I want my dad to be proud of me at the end of the day.”

“You have nothing to worry about there, honey,” Dad inserts, taking my hand in his. “I couldn’t be more proud of you, and your grandad felt the same way when he was still alive.”

“Of course, that was famous racing legend, Adam Malone, who was killed in a tragic crash at the 2003 Grand Prix,” Kimber says, reminding everyone at home why my grandad isn’t here with us today.

“His loss is one, not only our family, but the whole racing world still feels to this day,” Dad replies sadly.

“It’s true,” she agrees. “His death led to several safety devices now being mandatory, where before they were optional.”

“My father was a stubborn guy who liked to race the way he liked to race, and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But now we have to live with the consequences,” Dad says. “And that’s a life lived without him in it.”

“What’s it like watching your only daughter race?” Kimber asks Dad.

“It’s equal parts an out-of-body experience where I’m so proud I can’t handle it while also being absolutely terrifying,” Dad explains. “The first time she really crashed…” He stops speaking suddenly and looks away. But before he can fully hide it, I see the sheen of tears in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “We’re ready when you are.”

I squeeze his hand in mine, trying to let him know how much I love him. “Dad,” I whisper.

“To lose my dad the way that I did was hard. Made me look at what we were doing—how we were doing it—and I’ve been racing my whole life. Mom said I drove before I could walk,” he says. “You live your life full throttle, and you know the possibilities. And when racing’s in your blood, you live with that, because it’s the risk you take. But when it’s your baby girl… When she took that hit in Vegas and went into the wall, I watched her car flip end-over-end, but in my head, I saw her at three years old when she fell off her first bike. She had these long, black pigtails on top of her head that her momma used to tie ribbons in and her big blue eyes filled with tears. I knew in my heart I’d do anything to take the sting of that fall from her.”

“Dad,” I whisper again, tearing up.

“When she hit that wall, I knew I’d trade places with her if I could,” he continues. “That’s being a decent parent. When she was in the hospital, I begged God to switch her place with mine. He saw fit to let us both keep breathing, but when she races, I still see that baby hauling ass down the driveway with those long, black pigtails flying behind her.”

“I love you, Dad.” I lean into him, and he wraps his arm around me.

“I love you too, darlin’.”

“I’m Kimber Long, and this is Final Score,” she says to the camera before turning back to Dad and me. “Thank you so much. That was a great interview.”