“Jari Lankinen?”
I nodded.
“Layton Foxx,” he said, smiling. “Director of Player Relations, Community Outreach, and—depending on the week—everything else that falls through the cracks.” He stuck out his hand. Firm. Grounded. “Welcome to Harrisburg.”
Something in his tone—warm without being fake—threw me. I shook his hand before I could think too hard about it.
“You’re just in time for orientation,” Layton continued, walking with me through the doors. Coach Morin’s expecting you.”
Coach Morin's office was smaller than I expected—not intimidating, not flashy. Just a desk, two chairs, and a wall covered in Railers history. Banners, photos, and newspaper clippings. Legacy everywhere I looked. Coach wasn’t the tidiest guy. His desk was a mess of gum wrappers, empty coffee mugs, and playbooks stacked in uneven piles. Photos lined the back of the desk, half-hidden under notes. Layton lingered by the door as Coach Morin stood to greet me.
“Jari Lankinen,” Coach said, offering his hand. “Glad you’re here.”
“I'm glad to be here,” I lied. What I really wanted to say was that I couldn’t believe they'd traded me here, that they were stupid, that the optics were shit, and worse, that it exposed me to a million more horrors than I'd seen at my three other teams.
I sat when he pointed at a chair, my hands pressed flat against my thighs to stop them from shaking. Coach Morin lowered himself into his chair, folding his arms, studying me in silence long enough that I wondered if this was the real test—whether I could handle stillness.
Finally, he spoke.
“So, Jari,” he said, “you’ve had quite a journey since draft.”
My stomach clenched.
“Minnesota. Seattle. Detroit.” He ticked them off with three fingers. “Three teams in four years. That’s a lot of packing.”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
He leaned back. “I spoke to each of your coaches.” My breath caught. He held my gaze. “And you know what they said?” I didn’t. I was scared to. Coach lifted a shoulder. “Some bad things, lack of focus sometimes, lack of self-belief.” He paused and I nodded—I'd heard that before. “But also, good things.”
Wait. What? I blinked. “Good things?”
“Good skill. Good instincts. Good work ethic.” He paused. “That you’re a kid who never settled and had a real shot because something kept pulling the rug out from under him. Damaged.”
My throat constricted. Something? Or someone. Hope filtered into me. He didn’t say my father's name. He didn’t have to.
Then he asked it—the question no one had ever asked me directly. “Are youtoodamaged, Jari?”
The words hit like a slap, but not cruelly. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “No, Coach,” I said.
Coach Morin nodded once, as if that were the correct answer. “Good. Because what I’ve watched you do is far from damaged,and for the record, I don’t give a damn what your father was.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice steady. “That’s in the past. And this”—he motioned to the Railers logo behind him—“is different.”
Something in me drew taut, then loosened. “Thank you, Coach.”
“I'm not saying it will be easy—we have players here with family connections and not everyone wanted you here…” He didn't have to mention anyone's name. “But we run things differently,” he continued. “You’re not going to be thrown into the deep end with sharks and then be told to sink or swim. You’re going to have support. Real support.”
“Okay,” I murmured, not trusting my voice.
“You’ll be talking to our team psychologist,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s not optional. It’s part of being here. You’re not alone in any of it.”
I didn’t know if that scared me or relieved me. “Okay, Coach.”
Coach’s tone softened—just a little.
“Jari, listen to me. You’re talented. But talent isn’t why I pushed for this trade.” He tapped the desk lightly. “I traded for you because every coach you’ve had said the same thing: ‘He’s a good kid. He needs a place where leadership groups don’t expect him to fail.’”
A knot formed in my chest. Something old. Something I didn’t usually let myself feel.
Coach Morin let the silence stretch, then finished: “You’re a part of the Railers now. You get a clean slate, okay?”
