Tripp nodded hastily, and Branden set a few bottles on the nightstand. “Make sure he drinks these. They’re a liquid smoothie of things for him to recoup the weight. As for the pills, they’re for pain if he has any. And since snakes don’t lactate, you’ve got formula ready, correct?”
“At home, yes.” Tripp stroked their egg nervously.
“All the more reason to get home. The babe won’t eat for the first twenty-four hours, and once he sheds, you can give him the puree. They only eat every other day, so let him eat to his tummy’s content. Once he has teeth, he’ll let you know when he’s hungry until he’s eating on a normal schedule.” Branden saluted, left a few papers with some instructions, and strode out, a smile on his face.
Tripp tucked the egg into Dray’s side, letting the shell touch his skin while he called his parents and tidied up the mess they’d made in the bathroom.
Excited screaming left him nearly deaf in one ear as his mother screeched that she was a grandmother.
The noise must have woke Dray, because he gasped himself awake and let loose a strangled sob, not of pain but absolute joy when he noticed the egg. “Tripp!”
Tripp turned in time to see the absolute look of paternal bliss washing over his mate’s face. Piercings, tattoos, everything. The dichotomy of such a wild child with such joy over the little egg made Tripp almost miss the demands from his mother to get home as soon as possible. They wanted to be there for the hatching. “We need to ask Dray if he’s comfortable. You didn’t let Dad’s parents be at our hatchings.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t like his parents.” Tripp’s mom huffed, and Tripp sighed. “I’ll ask.”
Dray gave Tripp a stupid smile. “Yeah. They can come. I was only hesitant because of the birth… Hey! My sketchbook.”
Dray glanced around anxiously until Tripp pointed to their packed belongings. His notebook lay closed on top. “I’ll pose for you at home if you need any more.”
“I’d like that. But I’d also like to sketch you holding him. I can take a photo for that and sketch from it.” Dray stroked his egg and sat up, a new determination in his eyes. “Fuck! I forgot to text Ri—”
Tripp pointed to Dray’s phone, and at least a dozen texts had come through.
“You’re the best.” Dray snapped a pic of their egg and buried himself in the device while Tripp packed the car. They left their wedding as two and would return a family.
Chapter Fifteen
Dray
He’d not lifted a finger in days. Tripp’s mom, Joyce, had fawned over him incessantly since coming to his apartment. He’d had juice and smoothies brought to him, their own personal doctor over to inspect his healing. Embarrassing? Yes. But it was sweet.
She cleaned and cooked for them while Ian, Tripp’s father, mostly sat on the couch using any excuse to hold the egg on his chest. Rick had threatened to fight him for egg time until Dray reminded him that had been someplace intimate not too long ago.
So, when Dray woke that morning, his jaw popping with a yawn, he perked up as something wriggled against his chest.
“Tripp!” Dray sat up and swatted around, finding the bed empty.
“He’s gone into work. What’s up?” Joyce stuck her head in the bedroom, face shielded.
“I’m wearing pants this time, Mom.” Dray held up the egg, and she squealed, getting her phone out to call while Dray got the camera ready.
“And I’ll call Lowe, too, dear. Focus on your hatch.” Joyce wandered off, urging Tripp to come home. Lowe had been by a few times to see the egg and fawned over how lovely and smoothly shaped it was. He swore Dray’s egg was lumpy and gravel-rough on purpose to spite him. Back in those days, they’d had superstitions about drawing on the eggs, to write blessings out on it, things they hoped for the future. They knew better in the present, but Lowe blamed all Dray’s tattoos on the tradition.
Dray moved as little as possible, keeping the egg warm against him as it struggled. He didn’t want it to hatch until Tripp got home.
So, twelve minutes later, when Tripp came whipping into the apartment, panting hard, they’d correctly assumed he’d run the half mile from work to get there sooner, and Dray scooted over.
Together, they stroked the egg, mimicking the natural movement of siblings, and after a few fierce struggling motions, the egg split and a curled, pink hand swatted out.
They rushed to help the egg pry open. Joyce brought a towel, and Ian sat in the doorway, a stupid grin on his face, leaving only to let Lowe in when he arrived.
Their little one emerged with a perfectly rounded little head, a cute button nose, Cupid’s bow lips, and a smattering of dark, thick hair. He gasped for air, blowing bubbles in albumin that they wiped away for the tiniest little whimpers of cries.
Tripp had his shirt off first, struggling to get the wet babe against his chest for warmth as Dray wiped him down. He didn’t say a word, but Tripp knew what he was looking for. And it didn’t take long. A soft look glimmered in his eyes as he stared at the little one. Whatever he saw, Joyce must have seen, too.
“Tripp?” Dray glanced up, lips half-cocked.
“Bet they have eyes like yours.” Tripp reached out to stroke over Dray’s cheek. “So pretty. Like the blackest ink.”
