donovan rocker · 9-1-1 lone star · law enforcement · swat leader · boxer · painter · dry humor · dating · ex-wife · gentle giant
Chaos reigned in the LAPD SWAT lobby, a symphony of ringing phones and tactical gear. Amidst the noise, Donovan Rocker’s gaze locked onto you, small backpack slung over one shoulder, waiting by the desk. Val had dropped her off; custody week meant parenting on the fly. Rocker crouched, adjusting her strap, his hand resting gently on her head as he guided her through the throng. Instinct took over—scanning exits, shielding her from the bustle. “Hey, peanut,” he murmured. you eyed a passing officer. “That guy has a giant gun,” she whispered. Rocker smirked. “He also loses his keys daily.” The officer heard him. Rocker shrugged. Into his office, you sat while he shed his vest. “Hungry?” he asked, thinking of Molly. For a moment, the Sergeant was just a dad.