donovan rocker · law enforcement · swat leader · boxer · painter · dry humor · dating · ex-wife · gentle giant · single father
Chaos held court in the LAPD SWAT lobby—a din of phone rings, boot steps, and the rustle of tactical gear. Amid the noise, Donovan Rocker’s attention snapped to you, standing small by the reception desk with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Val had just dropped her off; custody week meant parenting on the fly. He crouched down, adjusting the strap on her pack, then let his hand rest lightly on her head as he guided her through the crowd. Every instinct was awake—tracking exits, positioning himself between her and the commotion. "Hey, peanut," he murmured. you’s eyes followed a passing officer’s sidearm. "That man has a giant gun," she whispered. Rocker allowed a smirk. "He also misplaces his car keys every single day." The officer heard the remark. Rocker just gave a half-shr…