Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mitty
Mitty stood in the middle of Bear’s garage like a kid on Christmas morning, surrounded by towering stacks of cardboard boxes. The new merch had finally arrived—two full pallets of it—and he couldn’t stop grinning.
He sliced open the first box with his pocketknife and pulled out a fresh black hoodie. The Occupy Yourself logo was embroidered on the chest in deep crimson, with a subtle “Grace in Motion” script on the sleeve. It looked sharp. Professional. Exactly what he’d hoped for.
“Damn,” he muttered, holding it up to the light. “We’re gonna sell out of these in one night.”
Bonnie had been heavily involved in the design process, pushing for quality over cheap screen-print garbage. She’d been right. This stuff felt premium. It represented the band they were becoming—not just a club act anymore, but something with real staying power.
Mitty spent the next hour methodically unpacking and organizing everything: hoodies, tees in multiple colors, tank tops, embroidered beanies, patches, stickers, and even a limited run of signed posters.
The numbers were perfect. Enough to make a real splash before the Iron Indian tour kicked off properly.
That’s when the idea hit him.
He pulled out his phone and fired off a group text to the band.
*New merch is here, and it looks GREAT. Got an idea. Marie’s. One night only. We give the people the full experience, we play, we sell, we celebrate. No tickets, just walk-ins. Let’s get this stuff into people’s hands before Bethany’s tour machine takes over.*
The replies came in fast.
Benny said, *I’m in.*
A quick *Hell yes* from Vic.
Leo sent, *Marie’s? Let’s do it.*
Bonnie chimed in with *Only if I get final approval on the setlist.*
Mitty laughed. Of course Bonnie would negotiate.
He started mentally planning the layout for the merch tables, how to handle crowd flow, and getting ready to ask for security from the Rebels if needed.
Marie’s was the perfect venue: intimate enough to feel special, big enough to move product, and loaded with history.
Playing there again would be like a victory lap before they stepped into the bigger rooms Bethany was lining up.
Vic showed up a few minutes later, looking relaxed and happy in a way Mitty hadn’t seen in a while. The man had been floating since Bonnie said yes.
“Merch looks killer,” Vic said, picking up one of the hoodies. “Bonnie’s gonna lose her mind when she sees these.”
Mitty nodded toward the growing pile. “That’s why I want us to do a one-off at Marie’s. Full night, new merch on display, just walk-ins like the old days. Feels right.”
Vic’s grin widened. “I like it. Real grassroots. I’ve got a friend who can run the booth if you need someone reliable. She’s done merch for a bunch of bands on the circuit. No drama, great with crowds.”
“Call her,” Mitty said immediately.
Vic stepped outside and made the call. A couple of minutes later, he came back in, giving Mitty a big thumbs-up.
“She’s in. Says she can be here whenever we need her. Name’s Sheri. She’s good people.”
Mitty felt a surge of satisfaction. Everything was falling into place.
The new label deal with Iron Indian was giving them structure and support, but this—a single night at Marie’s, surrounded by their people, getting the new merch into found-family’s hands—felt like them. Like the heart of what OY was becoming.
He looked around the garage at the stacks of boxes, imagining the crowd at Marie’s losing their minds over the new designs, singing along to the fresh material, seeing the band as the tight unit they’d become.
This was going to be good.
Really good.
Mitty clapped Vic on the shoulder. “Tell Sheri thanks. And tell Bonnie we’re doing this. Let’s remind everyone why they fell in love with us in the first place.”
Vic’s smile was bright and sure. “Already on it.”
Mitty went back to organizing boxes, humming one of the new songs under his breath. Finally, fucking finally, everything felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be.
The band was solid. The merch was fire. And in a few nights, they’d take it all back to Marie’s, the place where so much had started, and show the world what came next.
He couldn’t wait.
***
The late-afternoon sun was just starting to dip when the trucks rolled up behind Marie’s.
Mitty stood in the middle of the controlled chaos, clipboard in hand, directing traffic like a general preparing for battle.
Bear, Hurley, and a couple of the prospects had shown up to help, turning what would’ve been a miserable two-hour slog into something almost fun.
“Careful with that one!” Mitty called as Bear hoisted a heavy box of hoodies onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing. “That’s the premium stuff. Bonnie will kill me if we scuff them.”
Bear just grunted and grinned, clearly enjoying the manual labor. “You worry too much, Mitty. We’ve got this.”
They worked efficiently, the stack of boxes steadily shrinking as they carried them through the side door and into the merch area near the entrance. The new display racks Mitty had ordered were already set up, waiting to be filled. It was all coming together exactly as he’d envisioned.
Then he saw her.
A woman was already at the booth, moving with calm efficiency.
She was wearing jeans and a simple black tee, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
She was opening boxes, sorting sizes, and arranging the merch into a display so clean and eye-catching that Mitty stopped dead in his tracks.
The way she folded the hoodies, angled the tees, and layered the stickers created a visual flow that was better than anything he’d sketched out.
He set down the box he was carrying and walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Hey,” he said, offering a smile. “I’m Mitty. I’m the one who roped Vic into calling you.”
She looked up, and Mitty felt something in his chest do a strange little flip. Her eyes were warm, intelligent, and she had a quiet confidence that immediately put him at ease.
“Sheri,” she said, extending her hand. Her grip was firm and sure. “Nice to meet you, Mitty. Vic said you were the guy running point on all this. I figured I’d get a head start.”
Mitty shook her hand, trying not to notice how soft her skin was compared to his calloused fingers. “You didn’t have to do all this. I was planning to set it up myself after load-in.”
Sheri waved him off with a small laugh. “I was so pleased when Vic called. I’ve been following his career for...
God, seven or eight bands now? Klatmatch Ends, Silverline Drift, even that weird experimental thing he did for a few months.
The second he said it was for OY and they had new merch dropping, I cleared my schedule. This is going to look amazing tonight.”
Mitty felt like he’d been gently punched in the sternum.
Seven or eight bands.
She’d been watching Vic that long. Following his journey.
Probably had favorites, memories, maybe even a little crush on the guy who could make any drum kit sing.
Mitty suddenly felt very aware of the fact that he was just the band’s guitar player, and they had extra of those for some reason.
He was also the guy who made sure the trucks ran and the merch showed up.
Still, he knew he wasn’t the one the fans came to see.
He forced a grin, trying to play it cool. “Well...thank you. Seriously. This display looks way better than anything I would’ve thrown together.”
Sheri’s smile widened, warm and genuine. “Happy to help. I’ve done a lot of merch booths over the years. You learn what works.” She glanced toward the stage area where Vic and Benny were helping set up the kit. “Vic’s come a long way. I’m really glad he found a home with you guys.”
Mitty nodded, swallowing down the unexpected sting.
“Yeah,” he said, voice a little rougher than he intended. “We’re lucky to have him.”
He helped her finish organizing the last few boxes, stealing glances when she wasn’t looking. She was efficient, friendly, and clearly knew her stuff. And she’d been following Vic for years.
Of course she has, he thought with a quiet, rueful chuckle. Everyone falls for the drummer eventually.
Still, as they worked side by side getting the booth ready for the doors to open, Mitty couldn’t quite shake the small, stubborn spark of hope in his chest.
Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about selling merch.
Maybe it would be about something else entirely.
***
Sheri
Sheri folded another hoodie with precise movements, laying it neatly on the display table so the embroidery caught the light just right.
The booth was coming together beautifully, way better than she’d expected on short notice.
She’d always had a knack for this kind of thing, where she was turning chaos into something that felt intentional.
She glanced sideways at Mitty again.
He’d been warm and funny when he first walked over.
Had been quick with a self-deprecating joke, handsome in that slightly rumpled, road-weary way that usually caught her attention.
But the moment she’d mentioned following Vic’s career for years, something in him had shut down.
His smile dimmed. His shoulders tensed. He’d gone from easy banter to polite distance in the space of a heartbeat.
Sheri didn’t understand it.
She shrugged it off, refusing to let it sour her mood. She had work to do. The crowd would start arriving soon, and she wanted the display to look perfect.
Besides, she was here for Vic.