Chapter 1

1

Cutter

Driving the biggest SUV offered as a lease, I turn left down Carver Court and look at the large GPS screen and see the red pin at the end of the No Outlet street. The distance between my rented house and the neighbors is far enough that I actually feel a tiny bit of relief. Trust me though, it's not much.

The dead end street curves a little to the left, actually providing the house with some well-respected shade from sun and people.

The SUV gives a little hop as it moves from the road to my driveway.

I put the lumbering vehicle into park and sit there, staring at the nice-sized house.

Far too big for a single guy like me, but as my agent - Tony Smothers - said to me, I need this place.

I need this place. I need this little town I've never been in before.

Most of all, I need the local indoor pool.

The sooner I finish my rehab, the sooner I can be back at second base for the Jersey Cawlee and back to my version of normalcy.

It didn't have to be this way. Me being stuck in some small town in Pennsylvania, all but hiding from the world at the moment. All at the suggestion of Tony and an overpaid PR firm that suggested I vanish from the limelight until things calmed.

You might be asking yourself, what things…?

To put it in simple terms of how it's been played out on social media?

Some kid asked me for an autograph and I pushed his elderly grandmother in front of a moving car.

Now before anyone goes and joins the We Hate Cutter Buckley Fan Club (the admission is free, from what I've heard and read) we should back up a few breaths. I'm not exactly known for being the calmest guy in the room or out on the field, so if I'm saying to take a deep breath, you know it's some serious stuff.

Let's go back to the injury.

What should have been a routine double play ball…

Smitty throws a fastball down the middle to Tucker. Tucker swings for his life but gets on top of the ball. The ball ends up flying right back at Smitty. He panics and drops down to the mound. The ball clips the edge of the mound and flies into the air where I have to make a stellar jumping catch.

And to think I was always told my six-foot-seven height might get in the way of a baseball career… meaning coaches wanted me to play basketball or something else…

I made the catch.

The crowd cheers for me.

All is right. Until it's not.

Well, here comes the dirtiest player in the game running at me.

Steve Ublan.

He's charging at me like a bull to the color red. There's always a lot of controversy when it comes to plays like these. Who should and shouldn't protect the plate. If the runner should dive, slide, run… I mean, the argument can go on for years.

The point being is that my right foot touches the bag and that's it.

Ublan is out.

But that's not the game Ublan plays.

In hindsight, I should have known. Personally, I wanted the double play. The highlight of my catch, getting Ublan out, then throwing Tucker out.

Ublan claims later that he didn't realize my foot was on the bag all the way. He claims from his angle I wasn't touching so he had to make a move.

As soon as Ublan crashes into me, I know something is wrong.

The benches clear, it takes ten minutes to restore order in the game, and then the next time Ublan is up to the plate, Smitty hits him on purpose. That clears the benches a second time.

By then I'm in the training room getting ready to be transported to the hospital.

My shoulder is toast. My right hip is jacked. My right leg is messed up.

It doesn't matter that the league took action against Ublan. A fine and suspension… woo-hoo.

That's the injury story, okay?

And, yes, it does have to do with the pushing an elderly lady in front of a car story.

Which - for the record - is complete bullshit.

I had been rehabbing at a local place right in the city, pushing myself as much as the doctors and trainers would allow. And even after hours, I would be in the pool, working on stretching and movement and all that.

See, the worst part of some injuries is that they aren't bad for everyday life. I can walk, talk, drive a vehicle. I can function normally. But when it comes to baseball stuff, I'm not there yet. As much as I want to be.

Plus, the warning had been very serious. It was better to take some time off now and let things heal… one wrong hit and I'd be going under the knife for surgery and that would end the season for me. Or possibly end my career.

Being in town and being visible made me a target for reporters and fans.

Not that I mind at all.

I answer the questions I can as truthfully as I can.

As far as the fans go, if you walk up to me and you're a decent human and you're not going to ask me to sign fifty items that will end up on an online auction in a few hours, I'll give you the time of day.

With kids? I always make time for kids. No matter what.

You can look up the stories.

Playing a doubleheader and getting out of the stadium around midnight and there's a dad holding his two little boys in his arms as they're sleeping. Waiting for me for hours. You're damn right I pulled over and got out of my SUV and walked over to the dad. I even got to wake up the boys, which was a treat to see their little faces light up when they realized they had dozed off and now Cutter Buckley was waking them up.

That's how it should be for the kids.

So here I am walking out of the front door of the local gym where I had been swimming.

I've got two reporters - or bloggers or influencers or whatever fancy term people have for themselves online now - in my face, asking how I'm feeling. Asking if I'm going to come back this season. Then one guy has the balls to ask if I'm worried the team will trade me. That even injured I'm still worth a handful of assets. In other words, package me up and ship me off for some younger players, prospects, or draft picks. As though I'm old and washed up.

Which, hey, in baseball terms… in terms of professional sports… I get it.

Nobody plays until they're sixty-five, then retires and moves to Florida.

My days of being in my twenties are long gone.

Hell, my days of being in my thirties are starting to creep toward their finale.

This reporter is on my nerves. So I ignore him.

That's when I spot the kid and his grandmother.

Grandma has a walker and she's nudging her grandson to talk to me.

"We waited here all this time, Jake," she says. "Go talk to him. Or I will. I'll tell him how cute he is!"

"Gram!" Jake growls. The kid blushes.

"He's got the nicest butt on the entire team," Grandma says.

Jake's face turns even redder.

So I walk over, crouch down and offer my hand to Jake.

The kid is in complete shock.

Which happens sometimes.

I make small talk. I get him to relax a little.

And now we're all talking.

Jake plays little league. I'm his favorite ball player.

I sign as much as I can for the kid. I take a few pictures.

I even take a picture with Grandma herself.

(Grandma asks to pinch my butt, which I graciously decline… but she does manage to give my butt a little grab… right before all hell breaks loose.)

Someone gets into a car and leaves.

Right where Grandma is standing there's now an open spot.

Well, here comes two idiots ready to fight for that spot.

The first guy has his blinker on, coming the wrong way.

The other guy turns to steal the spot.

The first guy turns too, which causes the second guy to appear as though he's going to jump the curb.

That's where I jump in and move Jake behind me.

I reach for Grandma and can only grab her walker. I give it a tug and Grandma gets scared of the car (or maybe me… maybe I am wrong here, I don't know…) and next thing I know poor Grandma tumbles down to the sidewalk right on her butt.

Now I'm hotheaded and fired up, so instead of helping Grandma, I go after the driver of the car. I scream more than a few choice words at the guy, which all gets recorded by the reporters.

And other people who gathered around.

Of course social media runs with the videos and people start making edits and they add music along with their voices and theories that I'm in a bad mood and was ignoring Jake, and his grandmother insisted I talk to them so I pushed her toward a car and she fell.

For the record, both Jake and Grandma are fine. Grandma even asked me to wipe her butt off, which I also politely declined to do.

But nobody reports that.

Someone did start a rumor that Grandma broke her coccyx and possibly needs a hip replacement.

So that's how I ended up sitting with Tony and the PR company and that's how I ended up right here, sitting in this driveway to this house that isn't mine so I can rehab at a local pool.

A small town where the hope is things will be calm.

But let's be honest with ourselves…

… is life ever actually calm?