Beyond The Goalposts: Junior Year
Chapter 1
Monday Morning – Aug. 11, 1986 6:30am – Four Words
TWO NIGHTS AGO MATT had cruised down this same route. Windows down, Mötley Crüe blasting so loud the rearview mirror rattled. Rick half-hanging out the passenger window with a Dr. Pepper and no lid. Trey sprawled in the back like he owned it.
They'd looped Main Street a dozen times, maybe more. Who was counting?
He could still hear Rick yelling over the music. "Bet you can't hit Bobby's truck this time."
"Bet."
The water balloon sailed clean over his car, nailed the back of Bobby's truck. Rick flipped Bobby off. All three of them erupted in laughter.
Some girls cruised past in a white Mustang. A blonde was driving. Wasn’t she the one parked next to him at Sonic Friday night? Industrial girls. Hair teased to heaven, checking out every guy that rolled by. Matt pulled up slow, gave one a wink that got her laughing. Didn't need to say a word. Hit the gas, the Regal growling as they tore down Main.
Eyes on him all night. Not just from the girls. Everyone knew who he was now. Junior captain. Starting linebacker. Center of every "maybe this is our year" conversation.
They picked up Jack at his place. He slid into the back with a slap to Trey's leg, sandy brown mullet flopping, hazel eyes crinkling with mischief.
"Where bouts we headed, y'all?"
Matt smirked. "Andrea's. Her parents are out of town. And you know what that means…"
All four of them locked eyes for half a second. Grins broke across their faces.
"PARRRRRTTTTYYYY!" The word echoed through the countryside like a battle cry, windows down, the Regal roared back toward town.
The radio was propped in the kitchen window at Andrea’s house, fire pit going, someone's beer in the cooler.
Rick's voice: "You won't."
Matt climbed onto the roof. Sprinted forward, launched himself off. Arms wide. Wind slicing past as he cannonballed into the above-ground pool.
The water cool as he floated underwater. Kicked toward the surface. Reached for the side.
Someone's arm.
He opened his eyes.
“Sorry, Amber.”
“You’re insane, Matt.”
“I aim to please.”
He hopped over the edge, splashing her.
“Matt!”
He laughed, walking off to get his shirt from Jack.
“Hoss, that was crazien’r na rodeo clown chasin’ a bull.”
“Are you certifiable nuts?”
Matt turned to see fellow classmates, Rebecca Sanders and Amy Shupe walking up.
“How long you known me Bec? Two years?”
“Gonna be exactly that if you keep pulling stupid stuff like that.”
He lifted both hands and rubbed his hair sending droplets everywhere.
"You worry too much, Bec.”
"Somebody has to."
Scanning the crowd, Matt smiled. Last Saturday of the summer.
“Y’all want a beer?”
He walked inside. Grabbed a can out of the cooler. As he turned around, he dodged the blonde behind him.
“You keep showin’ up everywhere I’m at, and I’ma think you’re stalkin’ me.”
“In your dreams, superstar.”
“Those would be some good dreams, Amber.”
She slapped him as he walked off laughing.
He glanced back. She wasn't watching him. She was talking to Sarah Mitchell, head thrown back in genuine laughter.
It was one of those nights where everything felt easy. Where time stretched like summer. Where nothing mattered except the music, the laughter, and how many laps you could make through town before curfew.
The memory pulled a crooked grin across his face.
Now it was Monday, the sunrise painted Edna's sky in soft oranges and reds. Amazing how much could change in thirty-six hours.
Four words last night. That's all it took to shatter everything.
His midnight blue Buick Regal glided down the street, his radio already cranked up despite the early hour. The speakers blared Mötley Crüe, and his fingers drummed an automatic rhythm on the wheel. Any other time this would be a normal morning as he headed to the first practice of the season.
He gripped the wheel tighter as he turned onto Main Street, his fingers tapped as he stared ahead at the empty downtown streets of his hometown. Storefronts stretched in neat rows, their colorful awnings of red, blue, and green bright against the muted brick and whitewashed facades.
The courthouse loomed on his left, its worn stone stoic in the soft morning light. American flags lined the street, motionless in the still air, their usual flutter gone. Matt barely noticed, their stillness clashing with the knot in his stomach. Those flags always stood steady. The symbol of Edna, Flag City USA. But not today. Not with those four words echoing in his head. The faded marquee on the old Edna Theater mocked silently as he passed it. The neon lights dark in the early hour.
He caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. His brownish-gold eyes narrowed under heavy brows, now furrowed from last night’s call. His short spiked brown hair framed an angular jaw that clenched tight. His practiced smirk faltered as he gripped the wheel.
He wasn’t one of those guys in boots and Wranglers, spitting dip on the pavement. No, it was Levi’s 501s with the cuffs rolled just enough. Normally, he was in penny loafers or high tops when he wasn’t in cleats.
Matt was the team captain, starting linebacker and wing back along with being the kicker and punter.
Everything had felt exactly as it should be. Until those four words crashed back into his mind, shattering the illusion.
The Buick swerved, and Matt overcorrected. A horn blared as a pickup truck passed, the driver shot him a look. He forced his grip to loosen on the wheel, tension still coiled in his stiffened knuckles.
That call yesterday from Amy played on repeat, each word cut deeper. It came out of nowhere. He remembered sitting at the counter, picking at a half-eaten Totino's pizza.
The playbook sprawled out in front of him, pages marked up with X's and O's that had made perfect sense just moments before. Sunday evening quiet, just the scratch of his pen on paper and the hum of the box fan. Normal. Everything was normal, until the phone rang.
His parents were at church, so he answered. Her voice was shaky and distraught. He almost couldn't even register what she was saying. It was like time slowed down. She dropped the bombshell that had haunted him all night. The playbook slipped from his hands, pages scattered across the dining room floor. He stared at them after hanging up. All those carefully drawn plays, now as meaningless as last year's losing season.
He hadn't slept. His mind bounced off every thought like a steel ball in a pinball machine. Fear crawled up his spine. Confusion twisted him, leaving him queasy. His fist clenched until his knuckles ached. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured her face, tear-streaked, broken as she spoke. The frustration boiled over, driving him to pace his room until the floorboards creaked under his restless steps.
"How the hell did I let this happen?" He knew exactly how but couldn't believe his carelessness.
Matt’s grip tightened on the wheel.
This felt almost worse than the summer of hell after his freshman year. Jess had manipulated him, twisted him ‘til he was in a corner.
He reached for the volume knob and turned the music down. Not all the way. Just enough to let the silence creep in.
He leaned his head toward the window to feel the wind.
Stupid.
His fist pounded his thigh. Once. Then again.
Words slammed in his head, louder than the drums pounding from the speakers.
College football. Scouts crossing him off. His mom’s respect. Don’t even start. His whole future was on the line.
His jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“What the hell was I thinking?”
He slapped his forehead. “Freakin’ using the wrong head. Obviously.”
That was the problem. He hadn’t used his brain. He thought one more night together. It would be enough.
And the worst part?
He couldn't even tell anyone.
He didn't need this, especially not now.
He remembered their last night together before she left. They had lain there, talked in the dark, when she reminded him she was moving and breaking up with him was "the right thing to do." He knew she had to go, but damn it cut hard.
This was worse than his first breakup and that craziness. Maybe it wasn't love, but how could he even know? She was gone now, leaving a hole he didn't know how to fill.
This last month had crushed him enough. His mind was back to football after weeks of going through the motions. Back to moving forward and ready to be the leader his team needed him to be.
Yesterday, he'd promised her they'd figure it out together. He meant it too. But even as he said the words, a part of him wanted to run. Couldn't he pretend he'd never heard those four words at all?
Maybe it was just a scare. People have false alarms all the time, right? He wanted to believe that. But deep down, he knew. This wasn’t going away.
His Punch 45 rattled the speakers with Home Sweet Home. Any other morning, he'd be drumming the steering wheel, singing every word. But this morning, he reached over and turned it up.
Landmarks flashed by, each one a reminder of his fragile future and what might come next.
The grocery store where he stocked shelves on weekends. Pizza Hut, where the guys packed into booths after games, telling the same stories every week.
Football was his way out. The only way out. This season was everything to get noticed by the scouts. One mistake on or off the field could blow it all.
Right before turning on the road to the school was Sonic. He looked at his spot. The third from the end, perfect for cranking music and friends on Saturday nights. Empty now. The neon signs were dark this early, but in his mind they were lit up, and the space filled with laughter and music.
Today, his regular cruise route had twisted into a parade of everything he might lose. Every college scout that would be watching Barry this season would be seeing Matt too. His blocks could be the difference between Barry getting noticed or becoming another talented player who never made it out. He couldn't let his friend down. Not when Barry's future was riding on this season.
All these symbols of stability of his home town, of certainty. And right now, Matt felt anything but certain.
"What the hell am I gonna do? I'm still in high school."
He slammed his hands on the wheel. His heartbeat raced as he blew out a breath. Even the hard driving drums this morning couldn't silence his thoughts. The familiar guitar riffs, his usual fuel before practice, meaningless.
He wasn’t ready for this, not even close.
That same suffocating feeling that kept him up last night, staring at his bedroom ceiling, shadows inched across his bedroom walls, marking each sleepless hour was back.
Two-a-days were supposed to be on his mind. He should have been running through offensive or defensive schemes in his head, visualizing the adjustments Coach Stevens had added to their blitz package. He should have been focused on blocks for protecting their Senior running back, Barry Edwards, or how to help the younger guys learn the system. That's what a captain did. He should have been thinking about the sweat, the drills, the aching muscles that would come with pushing his body to the limit in the relentless August heat. He should have been thinking about how this year, junior year, was going to be his year, the one that mattered most, the one that would get him seen by scouts.
Instead, all he could think about was how everything might be changing. How four simple words might cost him everything he'd worked for.
He could already hear Coach Steven's voice in his head. "Get your head in the game, Garrett! Focus!" But how could he focus when everything felt like it was falling apart?
He'd always been the guy who had it all together. The leader in school and on the team. The one they counted on. His grip tightened on the wheel, fingers drumming a restless rhythm. What if they saw through him this time?
If it were true, what would that mean for him? For football? For everything he had planned to do after high school?
Every time he thought he pushed it down, her voice came back. Those four words. The only thing he could hear, no matter how loud he turned the radio.
The Regal's engine hummed as he pulled into the school lot. Pickup trucks with mud-caked tires and beat-up Chevys with gun racks dotted the spaces. A few cars like his were polished to a shine. Equipment bags and letterman jackets visible through windshields. The morning sun glinted off chrome and glass, and through the shimmer of heat already rising from the asphalt.
Matt could see figures moving toward the gym. His teammates. His brothers. Each step they took was confident, purposeful, ready to start the season. They had no idea their captain was in his car, hands trembling on the wheel, wondering if he'd already blown his whole future.
He eased off the gas, letting the Buick coast into his usual spot. He placed his forehead on the steering wheel beating his fists on his thighs. A breath hitched in his throat, too shallow to steady the pounding in his chest.
He sat there with his eyes closed. His fingers itched to turn the key and drive away, but he couldn't. Not yet.
What am I gonna tell my parents?
That thought struck him harder than anything else. His parents never had to push him. His dad, who played in college, would be furious. His mom? Worse. God, she still looked at him like he could be anything, do anything. The hurt in her eyes. The way her voice would break when she asked him why. Thinking about it was like a punch to his gut.
He’d spent his whole life doing all he could to achieve his goal. One mistake now, and it was gone.
His hands pressed hard on his skull as he ran them through his hair.
One more deep breath. One more moment to pull himself together.
Football had always been simple. He thought about the days spent in the vacant lot off Louise Street, him with best friend Rick and Trey and all the rest, running plays barefoot in the patchy grass. The ground would burn their feet in the summer heat, but nobody cared. They'd play until the sun dipped below the treetops and moms started hollering from porches up and down the street. Back then, it was easy. No plays to memorize. No pressure to lead. Just the game. Those same kids who used to argue over who was better, Longhorns or Aggies. They counted on him now.
He balled up his fists to his face, then hit the steering wheel over and over.
Football made him feel alive. The grass under his cleats, the crowd's roar in his ears, the perfect hit that rang through his body. When he played, everything else faded away. His ticket out of Edna, his chance to be more than another small-town kid.
This year was going to be different. Last year they lost every district game. He was ready to lead the team, help get them to the playoffs and show everyone he was capable. But even these thoughts, usually enough to fire him up, were gone.
"You got this Garrett," he whispered looking into the mirror. He wasn't sure if he believed it. He straightened up, forcing his features into the confident mask everyone expected to see. Practice was waiting. The team was waiting.
With that thought, he opened the door, the heat and humidity immediately pressing in around him like a wet blanket. The quiet hum of a distant lawn mower made it seem like another day in Edna, where nothing ever changed. The rhythmic sound mixed with the chirp of morning birds and the faint rumble of traffic on the road. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
His equipment bag felt heavier than usual as he pulled it from the backseat. He hadn't made it five steps into the parking lot when Jack Stewart barreled into view, his wiry frame bouncing with that restless energy Matt knew too well. He slapped Matt’s shoulder hard enough to jolt his gear bag, his freckled tan catching the morning sun as he grinned wide.
"Garr! Hoss, we fittna whup some tail this year!" Jack's enthusiasm was infectious, his grin wide and reckless as ever.
Matt forced a chuckle, the effort stiff, but Jack didn't seem to notice. He rattled off plans for the season, his energy a tide Matt couldn't escape.
"Yeah dude. I'm pumped." Matt said, nodding. It was easier to nod along, let Jack's excitement carry what Matt wasn't ready to face. "Shoot, hold up. I gotta run to the car real quick. Catch you inside."
"Ok hoss. You holdin’ up alright?" Jack's grin faltered slightly.
"I'm good. I just…forgot somethin'."
"Shake a leg bro. We ‘bout to show them there seniors we mean business!"
"For real, bro. Be right in."
He couldn't do it. He walked back to the car, the urge to flee nearly overwhelming. That's when he saw Barry Edwards crossing the parking lot with his bag. He wasn't just their running back. He was the heart of the team.
He moved through it all with quiet purpose. At 5' 8", he was shorter than Matt, but built stout as a fireplug with compact power and explosive speed in every movement.
They hadn't grown up playing together in the vacant lot like his other friends. He lived on the other side of town. Every morning since sophomore year, he had been first in the weight room, last to leave practice. This was Barry's season. Everything had led to this, his last shot. Now Barry crossed with that same determined stride, unaware that the other captain was thinking about running away.
He knew he needed to lock in and focus. The team needed him. Barry needed him. And maybe, just maybe, he needed them too.
"Come on Garr...suck it up. You'll deal with this later. Get your head out your ass and get in there. It's time to make this moment count."
This wasn't the first time he'd had to push through chaos. Wouldn't be the last. Just like when he'd broken his pinky sophomore year and played through it without telling anyone. He looked at his crooked finger.
One problem at a time. Right now, the team needed him.
The gym door stood ajar, held open by a scuffed rubber wedge. Matt hesitated, his palm hovered. Shadows stretched down the hallway, faint echoes of slamming lockers and laughter pulled at him. He drew a deep breath, and pulled the door open. The creak of the hinges sliced through the quiet.
One foot in front of the other. You can lead scared. You just can’t lead silent.
In the distance someone's radio blasted. The rhythmic thump of a ball against concrete mixed with bursts of laughter and trash talk bouncing off the walls. Normal sounds. Team sounds. The kind of sounds that had always meant brotherhood.
Now it reminded him of everything he stood to lose. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, throwing strange shadows on the walls. Faded pictures of Cowboy legends and phrases about dedication that had inspired him since freshman year. Each step down that hall felt like moving deeper into uncertainty, away from the simple world where his biggest worry had been learning the new blitz packages.
And those four words she said haunted every step.
"I think I'm pregnant.”