"He's in the hospital," he says, forcing himself to say it slower, steadier. "And Adeline is—" The words fail him, for a moment. The word, singular. He takes another breath. "She's gone. Killed. I couldn't—"
Couldn't save her. Couldn't save either of them. He made a stupid gamble and lost, and now… Now he has a son, right in front of him, that he drove away a long time ago.
Slade's teeth set together. "They were attacked," he lies, partially, "and I didn't get there in time." It's hard to say, but he gathers the words and starts with, "I understand that you hate me; I don't blame you. But you need to come home, Grant. For them, not me. Tell me what I need to do to make that happen."
Slade gets a second chance with his kids, and tries DESPERATELY not to be an abusive asshole this time. He finds he doesn't know many alternative ways to be.
"He'll save the contact information of the therapists. They might be useful. Slade's not qualified in that."
Fascinatingly limited perspective here! Slade is oblivious to most of what other people are feeling, and is just aware enough to suspect that. But he's knows so little about parenting that he can't even be properly guilty about his failings. Just, an awful guy putting in the work to get better, slowly learning to carve outs spaces for his kids between all the revenge and obsession.