Micah had just turned to leave, brushing a hand against his jacket, when something soft and small slammed into his leg.
He staggered half a step before looking down. Arlo. The boy's tiny arms were wrapped tightly around his leg, clinging. His round eyes were wide and teary, his lips trembling.
"Arlo?" Micah bent down immediately, concerned. "Why are you here? Where is your nanny? Weren't you with other kids?"
"I don't want to play with them anymore," he muttered. "They said mean things about you."
Micah looked at Arlo in puzzlement. "What are you talking about?" He reached out and gently cupped the back of Arlo's head, coaxing him into loosening his grip so they could talk face to face.
"They said…" Arlo sniffed. "Something like… You are a bad person. Always fighting."
Micah paused.
Owen stepped closer, shoulders stiff. "Arlo," he said in a low tone, his voice filled with warning.
