Maybe, maybe, maybe. He blew out a breath and pushed away from his desk, needing . . . something. Exercise? Food? More booze?

No, definitely not more booze. He’d had more alcohol tonight than he usually consumed in a month.

His glance flitted to the wall again and he had to fight the urge to bang on it with his fists, to wake Liza up and demand that she tell him what was wrong.

You know what’s wrong. Stop being an obtuse dick.

He hung his head, suddenly too weary to ignore it any longer. “I am a dick,” he whispered.

Karl had tried to tell him, and he’d made a joke.

Rafe had tried to tell him, and he’d thrown him out.

His mother had tried to tell him multiple times as they’d talked on the phone, but each time Tom had changed the subject and his mother had allowed him to do so, albeit reluctantly.

Even Croft had tried to tell him that Liza’s wants and needs might have changed during the seven years of their friendship, but he’d pretended to be clueless.

Dammit all to hell. “I don’t want this,” he growled to Pebbles. “I don’t want to want her.” But he did want her. He could lie to himself, but his body apparently knew the truth. He wanted her friendship, her laughter, all of her smiles. And he wanted to curl up with her under those soft blankets and see what would happen. “I can’t want her.”

Huffing a groan, Pebbles rolled over to press her face against the wall, shutting him out.

“Et tu, Pebbles?” he muttered. He closed all of the browser tabs he’d been using to trace that damn e-mail and stared at the image that remained on his screen.

Tory laughed at the camera, all bubbly happiness and dancing delight as she waggled her fingers to show off the diamond he’d just put on her finger. It was the night she’d agreed to be his wife. A month later, she was gone. The diamond on her finger was gone. The smile on her face, gone. The light in her eyes . . . all gone. All stolen by the brute who’d killed her.

He drew a breath and stared hard at her face. They’d fallen hard and fast, going from dating to storing toothbrushes in each other’s bathrooms in a matter of weeks. And the only person he’d told was Liza.

He closed his eyes, remembering the night he’d told her about Tory on a Skype call. Liza had been laughing about something he’d said when he’d blurted it out. I met someone. She’s amazing. Liza’s smile had disappeared, and then hurt had flitted across her face.

I hurt her. I was clumsy and bumbling and I hurt her. He could see that now, in his memory. He’d either missed it or ignored it then. Either way, she’d schooled her features into a tight smile and had wished him all the happiness in the world. Had even asked all about Tory.