"Proud of me for what?" he asked, confused. Not behaving like he was mental? Not going up there and shouting that he was going to kill the bastards who did this? Both had been possibilities, but he didn't think he did anything that day that merited her being proud of him. He felt more like he could collapse any moment, and that thought prompted him to lead her over to the couch, where they could sit, and his legs wouldn't give out.