Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
FINAL SCORE
Adrienne
One week later…
“And now, please welcome for the first time to the living room, all-time racing legend Adrian Malone and his daughter, Adrienne,” Kimber Long, host of a well-received cable sports interview show, calls out as Dad and I walk out on her set.
It’s meant to look like a living room in a moderately upscale family home.
Final Score, is Kimber’s popular show that airs every afternoon at four o’clock on Wolf Sports Network, or Wolf for short. She’s tall. She’s blonde. And she’s beautiful.
Her wide smile and the freckles across the bridge of her nose give off that girl next door vibe that every man loves. And she eyed Gabe like a particularly juicy steak she wanted to sink her teeth into the second she laid eyes on him backstage.
I discreetly push out a frustrated sigh that the cameras and microphones shouldn’t pick up but just thinking about him has me seething all over again.
She can have him. He’s nothing but a jerk with impending doom and heartbreak written all over him.
I should know. I learned that lesson when I touched his fire and got burned, and I try to learn most of life’s lessons the first time around.
I was already done by the time we arrived at her set in Los Angeles.
Still… I want to scratch her eyes out, which is highly inconvenient.
This, I ignore.
I’d let hair and makeup softly curl my long, dark hair so that it fell in loose waves down my back and around my breasts.
I sat patiently while they made up my face in soft, smoky grays and delicate pinks.
And then I stepped into a restroom and changed into my standard uniform of dark skinny jeans and tall black Louboutins with their sky-high heels and red lacquered soles.
I topped it with a loose-fitting chiffon camisole that hung from my shoulders on slim straps and had a deep enough V in the front that it hinted at the abundance hidden underneath.
With the front tucked into my jeans, behind a skinny patent leather belt, it billowed around my waist.
Mom taught me to be sexy without blaring it, which is probably why the half-naked photoshoot put me on edge.
Of course, I compounded it by letting Gabe have his way with me in the dark locker room.
As if the “Women in Racing” spread wasn’t pushing my limits enough, PR booked me for a full centerfold in The Dangerous Dames, a well-known gentleman’s magazine that boasts cutting-edge articles and full-color images of young, beautiful women who just happen to be naked.
I don’t want to borrow any more trouble with that one, so for now, I plan to ignore the impending date for me to drop my clothes all in the name of showing the world who I am.
I threaded my platinum star earrings glittering with tiny diamonds through my ears. Dad gave them to me when I won my first race on the circuit.
In the dressing room, Dad was decked out in his signature uniform of a pair of worn Levi’s, a black T-shirt, boots, a leather belt, and his DHR team jacket just casually waiting for us to be called to set.
“Ready?” he asked me.
“Of course.” I slid my own DHR jacket up my arms and followed him to the stage entrance, which brings us to now.
Today is wholesome family business, sports, and a sit-down interview.
Dad and I walk into the living room made-up in creams and whites. Kimber stands to greet us warmly, as is part of her schtick.
I haven’t made up my mind if she’s genuine or not, but in the world of professional sports, we all have a role to play.
I won’t begrudge her for hers, because I’m too entrenched in my own.
If there’s one thing I understand better than anyone else, it’s how hard women have to work to be taken seriously in professional sports.
Not to mention the questionable things we’re threatened with regularly.
I sit next to my father on the long cream sofa as she settles into her chair across from us, folding her legs one over the other, as she often does, emphasizes just how long they are.
I could see Gabe going for a woman like her.
All of her golden-blonde and creamy-peach would look killer next to his jet-black and dark-olive.
“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.”
“Thanks.” I laugh awkwardly. We’re not the most emotionally forward family and this has been more than we can usually handle.
“Good luck this season,” she adds, showing me who she truly is. “It’s always great to see a member of the sisterhood beat the boys.”
“Yeah,” I reply with a smile.
“Now, now,” Dad says jokingly.
“Meh, you had your turn, old man,” I tease. “It’s ours now.”
“I can’t wait,” he says, and Kimber and I both hear the honesty ringing out in his words.
He leads me backstage to have our mics removed, and then we climb into our cars and head back to San Diego.
Gabe and I are silent the whole drive back to my house. The minute we hit the highway, I slip my heels off my feet. My jacket is already in the back seat of his SUV, secured in its dry cleaning bag. I tip my seat back a bit and watch Southern California pass by.
It’s dark when we pull into my driveway, and I all I want is a bath and some wine.
I’m not sure how much more I can take rolling off of him.
Our relationship was bad before the locker room, but now it’s almost unbearable.
He’s seething every time I see him, and I don’t know what to do, because so am I.
Every time he walks into a room, it’s like someone flips a switch and lights me up from the inside.
I fucking hate it. I want to scratch his eyes out as much as I want him to fuck me.
I don’t want to want him, but I do, and it fucking hurts.